


Of Princes and Dragons

by letosatie



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Industrial Revolution, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Canon Disabled Character, F/M, M/M, Magic, X-Men Big Bang Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-05 16:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6712279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letosatie/pseuds/letosatie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a peninsula called Genosha, there were four countries existing co-operatively.  </p><p>The youngest of the four rulers, King Erik, suffered the shame of not manifesting his expected hereditary power of magnetism and metallokinesis, a disadvantage in a country of skilled and vicious warriorship.  The curse that bound his powers could be broken with love, but Erik could not remember a time when he didn’t love the Crown Prince of Corazon, Charles Xavier.  He and Charles were both sole heirs; their duty to reproduce should outweigh personal desire, both for each other and for relief from the curses that pained them.</p><p>Charles was telepathic.  His country however, shunned magic, put all their faith in religion and science.  So he hid his gifts and he resigned himself to the loneliness of secrets kept and a loveless marriage. </p><p>The King and the Prince had choices to make and, with each of their options bound to hurt someone, it seemed their own wishes must give way to the greater good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clubs

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Of Princes and Dragons: Art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6708133) by [dosymedia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dosymedia/pseuds/dosymedia). 



> Based off a prompt by trobador on tumblr, who suggested modern day princes who broke each others curse, and which I have mangled by setting this story in the industrial revolution and complicating their paths to happily ever after.
> 
> Beta'd by the incomparable lost-in-a-paradox. Any remaining mistakes have occurred because I've stubbornly ignored her.
> 
> Written for the X-men big bang, with AMAZING art by dosymedia. I do not feel as if this story deserves the incredible depth of research and work that dosymedia put into her pieces. Her creations are beautiful and touchingly faithful to the ideas I had for the story. She deserves a crown and a dragon's hoard of kudos.

In Genosha, there was an annual festival that everybody looked forward to. It was the week long, mid-summer celebration in the Summer Kingdom, an ebullient, luxuriant affair, hosted by the generous Summers family. Each of the other Genosha ruling families enthusiastically collaborated.

The Frost Dynasty, who ruled the mountains along the spine of the peninsula that formed Genosha, financed some of the festival, plumped up the Summer Castle staff with some of their own servers, chefs and maintenance persons and, in possibly the most gratefully received contribution, provided barrels full of the gorgeous distilled Valstiche. The crisp alcoholic spirit was as famous as the Snawr-Hafa primary industry, gem mines and jewellers.

The Honourable House of Xavier provided entertainment in the form of games, music, plays, circus acts, sports matches, magicians, fire dancers, and ballets. Corazon bakers and sweet makers were beyond anything the rest of Genosha could conceive and they would swoop in on the Summer Castle kitchens, commandeer a section of it, and produce stomach-rumbling smells and sugary delicacies that won hearts and stomachs over at first bite. 

Clan Lehnsherr, for once leaving the windy, stony shores of their side of the peninsula without reluctance, brought with them myriad bounty from the sea. Their number in attendance was drastically less than the other countries’ as the Ierocis Zeme had spread their warrior armies around the perimeter of Genosha, standing them solidly against the unlikely event of an opportunistic invasion while the general populace was inland.

Genoshian children had seen this festival from the breast. Adolescents often associated first kisses and first broken hearts with the smoky smell of the wexcor wood bonfires, first highs and first hangovers with the cushiony grasses, whether the fat, emerald grasses in the orchards or the purple, feathery grasses carpeting the rolling paddocks. Weddings and baby blessing ceremonies were often held during the festival, as there was the promise of greater numbers of guests, and consequently gifts, given the festival gathered scattered relatives into one place. There was also a chance, with the mages in attendance, of magic being among the gifts. 

The Summer Kingdom, although land-locked in the seat of the peninsula, was fertile and abundant. The inhabitants were colourful and enthusiastic. Charles assumed there was some reason for the correlation but was distracted by the chaos of unfettered enthusiasm. Corazonites were all about manners; it was a relief to see an emotion on a face that corresponded with what Charles could read in their mind.

“Here’s King Erik,” said Raven, fidgeting. Charles smiled widely as he watched the lean man wending his way through the crowds. The King of Ierocis Zeme was always intense; he was frowning now, creases piling like pancakes on his forehead. The creases slipped off and landed in smile lines bracketing his mouth when he saw Charles.

“Your Highness,” he said, kneeling before Charles’ chair.

“Your Grace,” Charles said back. “You remember the lady Raven?”

“No, I recall a brat called Raven, used to steal my horse to swim at The Waterfall,” said Erik and flicked her knee with his fingers. She kicked him. Charles ran his hand over his mouth so it didn’t look like he was smiling.

-Charlie sugar, where are you? drawled a voice in Charles’ head.

Charles laughed out loud, and Raven and Erik’s eyes snapped to him. “Emma,” he said by way of explanation, before answering telepathically, -West side of the courtyard by a peach tree with King Erik and Lady Raven.

There was a mental hurrumph before, -Ugh, stuffy old Lehnsherr. The Frost’s were what Charles’ mother called new money and Emma was dismissive of the lattice work of manners and societal rules that dictated the behaviour of the rest of the peninsula.

The trio greeted Emma; Charles warmly with hugs, Raven excitedly with hand clutching, and Erik stiffly bent over her hand. They had all been in and out of each other’s homes in their childhoods but Erik had been absent in anything but an official capacity for years, once the crown had been jammed too soon onto his head.

“Prince Alexander and Prince Scott are competing in the fights. Will you fight, your Grace?” Emma asked Erik politely.

“Shall I represent you in the fights, Princess?” Erik returned courteously.

“Oh thank you, your Grace,” said Emma, all simpering smiles towards the King and mental eye rolls for Charles’ benefit. “However, Prince Scott has already pledged to do so for me.”

“Shall I fight for you Charles?” said Raven, excitedly.

“Good God, Raven, absolutely not. I know you are a good fighter and ladies from the other Kingdoms fight but Corazonite females do not, my dear.”

“I’m not Corazonite,” Raven grumbled.

“Please, Raven, maybe when you’re older? I would just be too worried.”

“My sister, Cordy, wants to fight,” Emma said. “She’s actually very good for a twelve year old pip squeak. Maybe you and she could practise together, Raven.”

Raven and Emma began to discuss Cordelia’s weapon skills. Erik turned to Charles. “I’ll fight for you, Charles. You needn’t worry about me.”

“Well, I will anyway,” said Charles.

“When Charles was tiny,” Erik reminisced, for Raven and Emma, “before he needed the chair, we thought he would be a great fighter. He was so scrappy. I often had bruises where he would punch me on the thigh, which was as high as he could reach. He was always clenching his little fists and yelling. Demanding tyke.”

“Charles did?” said Raven, wide eyed, “This Charles?”

“Yes, then he learned to talk and suddenly he could charm anything out of anybody.”

“Are you still sulking about the bow and arrow?”

“I’d just been given it, had shot it barely five times, and you… you… with your big eyes and floppy hair and pweeze Ewik!”

Charles laughed. “That still works. Will you play chess with me later? Please, Erik?”

“Gods,” Erik cursed, hoping the skip in his stomach was still private even with two telepaths in range.

“That’s no proof of your charm, Charles,” Raven pointed out, “since you and King Erik are the only people in the whole of Genosha who play that weird foreign game.”

There was a flash of challenge between the warded siblings and Erik gulped.

“Your Grace,” said Charles, unleashing the power of blue eyes peering up from under a canopy of brown hair. Erik locked his knees to keep them from trembling. “Would you honour me by representing me in the boat races?”

Emma laughed. Raven clapped her hands. Being the only countries of the four with a coastline, Corazon and Ierocis Zeme’s rivalry for the boating honours was fierce and long standing.

“Ah Charles, I want to represent my own country for those. I have to beat Corazon, not help them win.”

Charles’ fingers found their way up Erik’s sleeve to the pulse point on his wrist. “You will win too, you’re the best,” he said, with utter conviction. Erik certainly felt at that moment that he was the best, with all of Charles’ fondness twining up his arm and nesting around his heart. 

Emma and Raven were holding hands in anticipatory glee.

“Charles,” said Erik, halfway between whining and begging, all kingly dignity absent.

“Please,” said Charles, as if the fate of all life was hinged on the answer, “Please, Erik.” His finger traced a line along the tendon in Erik’s wrist and Erik could feel the tingles in his ribs.

“Gods,” swore Erik, “You’re the most powerful man in all Genosha, you know that? Alright. I’ll do it. I’ll represent you in the boat races and compete against you in the shooting.” Charles smiled at him and Erik thought that was worth the moaning he was going to get from Shaw and the other councillors. “I’d better offer to fight for one of the other hopeful, eligible young people being flung at my head in case I suddenly go insane and marry one of them.”

Emma gave a trill of laughter. “I will be dangled in front of you several times this week, as will my brother and my sister.”

“But you’re like my sister,” said Erik, offering his arm to her with all outward display of gentility, “my fussy, overbearing, vapid sister.”

“And you,” replied Emma, taking his arm, “are like my boring, creaky, mean, judgmental grandfather.”

“Promise me we won’t get married to each other, Princess,” Erik said, kissing her cheek.

“I give you my word, your Grace,” she said demurely, accepting the dry peck. They smiled angelically at each other.

Before Erik knew about marriage and sex and love, Charles was his favourite. He’d wanted a brother desperately but his parents only managed him. There was Alex, the crown prince of Summer, but he was arrogant and never did what Erik said even though Erik was older. And there was Christian in Snawr-Hafa, but he cried a lot, and the people of Ierocis Zeme were not supposed to show weakness, so his tears irritated Erik. Then, when Erik was eight, Mama took him to Corazon and he saw the brand new prince. And he was perfect. And Erik thought it was entirely unfair he wasn’t allowed to live in Corazon with the baby or bring him home to Ierocis Zeme, even though he fit in Erik’s suitcase, Erik was smart enough to try it first before suggesting it. He had to content himself with sitting at the feet of whichever lucky adult was holding the baby, and talking to Charles while waving toys in front of him, and perching by the cradle to watch him sleep.

The genesis of his devotion to Charles was the moment the newborn wrapped his tiny fingers around Erik’s comparatively huge eight year old finger and opened adoring blue eyes to investigate the heir to the Clan Lehnsherr. Erik had been staring down into those eyes ever since.

By the time Charles was half through his teenage years and at the cusp of marriageable age, Erik knew, without bothering to lie to himself, that he thought of his friend in all the ways a man thought about a lover. Except their unbreakable duty to reproduce, as only heirs in their respective kingdoms, meant each of them had a parade of female prospective spouses to smile at every Summer Festival.

Erik would have to pick one, one day, and so would Charles.

“Where is Janos?” wondered Charles, “I’m starving.”

“I can push you Charles,” Erik offered.

“Does no-one care for appearances except for me?” Charles said, horrified. “How would that look? The King of Ierocis Zeme attending his lesser?”

“You are not…” began Erik angrily, but stopped himself and checked his watch chain. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” said Emma, eyeing Erik interestedly, “it’s you who most resembles my grandfather, Charles.”

Charles sniffed and Erik pushed his chair and no-one in Genosha could remember a time when the King of Ierocis Zeme hadn’t dismissed convention to care for the Crown Prince of Corazon anyway.

They ate a ridiculous sized lunch given how extravagant supper was going to be, but no-one could say no when presented with food they didn’t get to eat year round. Emma kept accepting more Corazon cakes and pastries. Raven had eaten a truly remarkable amount of fresh fruit; “They cook everything in Corazon,” she explained, around some berries. And Charles was blotchy with the amounts of fruit wine he’d been sampling. Erik was attempting to remain impassive and mature, but Charles waved some lamb in front of him and he moaned, his shoulders curving as if to protect him from the temptation.

Charles laughed and dangled the cube of meat in his fingers, which were slippery with the juices, even slurping some of the drips from his palm. Erik had a sharp, inappropriate thought prompted by the glimpse of pink tongue before he hid it deep down with his other secrets.

“You win,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Oh here,” said Charles and he tried to feed Erik directly. “No need for both of us to have sticky hands.”

“Charles,” Erik warned.

“Here,” Charles responded, waving the lamb and flicking juice toward Emma, who tsked and frowned.

“Charles, you drunken mess, that’s Corazon silk!” said Emma, backing away.

“Yes, thank you Princess, I recognise the produce from my own country,” Charles responded dryly. “Erik, you’re upsetting Emma. It’s truly ungentlemanly.”

Erik reminded himself he was a King, born to both serve and rule, that keeping calm in crisis was an important skill and this was good practise. He bent towards Charles stiffly and took the meat in his teeth, telling himself he wasn’t feeding off the approval Charles’ glance portrayed.

They spent some time watching a contortionist and a dance troop. Janos turned up in time to carry the thick quilt Charles brought from an elderly woman from the Summerlands, and the bracelet from a small blonde girl from Emma’s country, and the fur slippers he bought from the trapper couple from Ierocis Zeme.

“What do you want with all these things, Charles,” asked Emma. Her voice was flat with ennui, but her eyes were sharp with interest, her mind tapping at Charles’.

“You’ll see,” said Charles, and gave the slippers to an old man from frozen Snawr-Hafa, the quilt to a new mother from Erik’s Kingdom and the bracelet to a mooning young man with his eyes unwaveringly trailing a lovely, not-at-all oblivious young lady.

“Oh, that’s such a good idea,” said Emma, clutching Raven’s wrist in one hand and her purse in the other. “I’ll see you at the supper.” Erik and Charles could hear them giggling far longer than they could be seen. 

“You will be a great king, Charles,” said Erik, allowing his hand to slip onto the back of Charles’ neck.

“If I do half as good a job as you’ve done, Erik, I’ll be content.”

Erik was proud of his accomplishments as King but he also couldn’t imagine ever attaining a state of contentment with him on one side of the Peninsula and Charles on the other.

 

XXX

 

There were no games planned for the first day, nothing official for the young King to see to, just a sunny afternoon and his favourite person laid out in front of him. Charles was reclining on a picnic blanket, telling Erik about last eleven months, during which he had taken his official diplomatic tour. Each of the young nobles took one or two of these tours to educate themselves outside the insular Genoshian community.

“There is something to be said for the Summerlands,” Erik said, stretching out on the blanket, grass cushion soft under his back.

Charles made an agreeing sort of hum. “I love it here. Mother calls it the Provincial Kingdom, or The Outskirts.”

“Charles,” Erik intoned, “I don’t know how to tell you this but…” he sighed dramatically, “your mother is a snob.”

“You’ll start a war,” Charles warned him, giggling. “ ‘The King of Iron insults the Queen of Hearts!’ There are no reporters out here are there?”

Erik raised an eyebrow and looked intently around at the remote location, under a sole tree in a paddock that was spread out flat from the tree and gently sloping in the opposite direction. There were ten sheep under a cluster of trees in the distant corner and Janos respectfully removed down the hill, making tiny tornadoes race each other through the purple clover.

He sighed though, “Reporters, ugh. I don’t mind when the serious ones come and properly relay how a new machine works and the impacts that will have for Genosha. However, when it’s just a picture of me in the crown going on about my lack of metallokinesis, just…. it’s been said. It changes nothing. Even worse, when people whisper my Ma was unfaithful, that I’m not heir…”

Charles cut in. “You look exactly like your father, slightly taller and thinner. No,” he affirmed, “no one can say that with much conviction.”

“So you can read minds in a country that shuns magic and favours science, and I lack an ancient hereditary power in a country that reveres it,” Erik surmised. “Shall we swap?”

“Your people would protest,” Charles said, “they adore you.”

“All Genosha loves you, Charles,” said Erik. His focus on Charles was so intense, Charles blushed and his breath came short. Erik was a safe and constant part of Charles’ life, a comforting memory, but Charles was starkly aware of how handsome he was and how handsome Charles felt within his gaze and the reverb of his rumbling voice.

Charles changed the subject. 

 

XXX

 

The opening supper was announced by a trumpet of Castrous horns, although most of the Genoshians had been dressing for it for at least a half hour. Erik and Charles had reluctantly left the paddock and gone back to the castle to change. Supper was set out on the three tier courtyard with the tables clothed in red and set out under stretched, waxed fabric for shade, which snapped in the breeze like sails, and the poles holding them aloft were wrapped with pale green and rich yellow ribbons, the colours of the Summer Kingdom, new growth and sunshine.

Charles was ensconced at a table on the highest level, surrounded by eligible young people, eddying around him like confetti, their chatter and peels of laughter making Erik feel ancient as he stole glances while entertaining his own, more subdued, confetti.

Erik tried his best to really focus on the faces in front of him: the impassive brown eyes of Betsy Braddock from Summer, the brash flawlessness of Emma’s older sister Adrienne, the brilliant red skin and impressive tail of the military expert, Azazel. It was no use making obvious comparisons. 

When the food came, Erik was sat at the high table with Charles’ mother, Emma’s parents and their hosts. It was an excellent repast: delicacies from around the peninsula including moist, roasted meat, fruit in large bowls and platters of Corazon-made sweets. Erik was drinking honey Valstiche in a hot, herbal infusion. He had to pretend he wasn’t attuned to the shouts and chortles from the table with the Princes and Princesses on it. Princess Emma was turning herself into a human diamond, to the giggles of the others at the table, and Prince Scott had lifted his glasses to fry bits of food with blasts of magic from his eyes. 

The general din should have smothered any individual sound, but Erik could hear Charles’ low echoing laugh. It was embarrassingly distracting. Erik supposed it was fortunate his table mates weren’t demanding sensible conversation, weren’t managing any themselves. His brain was processing conversely little with every cup of Valstiche he consumed. It was reverting to his default obsessions: Charles, and Erik’s lack of magnetism. He was tiddly but not as red-faced as the Queen of Corazon, or as loud and coarse as the King of Snawr-Hafa.

Shortly, after the dessert platters had been cleared, Erik excused himself and retired to his room, ignoring the glare from his Foreign Relations Minister. This was fair; a warrior King from Ierocis Zeme should not be running for cover. Erik, however, was fairly certain Hazel Frost had just slurred a sexual suggestion involving him and her and the dish of berry syrup, and felt that retreat at this point was simply diplomatic.

Erik’d only been in his room long enough to remove his short cloak and boots before there was a knock at the door.

“Erik,” Charles was calling, “Chess?”

Erik opened the door, “Please.”

Erik wheeled Charles in and they waved to Janos before shutting the door.

“Will you set up, Charles?” Erik requested, “the set is on the table by the window. I’ll make drinks.”

“Thank you,” replied Charles, with a teasing grin, “only hold the goat, would you? Still full after that feast.”

“Don’t abuse your elders, brat. And we only put milk from goats in drinks not any other parts of the infernal beasts, and perhaps we could have more variety in our diet if your ancestors hadn’t crowded us out of the West side of the peninsula and made us perch on the East cliffs with only the goats and the sea for company.”

“Yes,” said Charles, cheerfully, “your savage witches and your heathen gods. If only you’d taken to being civilized, we’d have shared the whole peninsula and they’d’ve been our ancestors, rather than yours or mine.”

“And there wouldn’t have been war between us for generations, and we’d have been brothers, you and I,” replied Erik.

“We basically are brothers, Erik,” said Charles, stone chess pieces clinking on the board as he spread them into place.

“We are not,” cried Erik, forcefully. Charles winced at him, but smoothed his face out and rapidly looked back to the board. “I, I mean,” Erik stuttered, “brothers c.. can’t get married.”

And then it was Erik looking away, Charles flaring quite red. There was a stunned moment, only the rustle of Charles’ sleeve and the sound of Erik gulping to accompany it, then Charles said, in an obviously feigned casual tone, “Of course, I know just what you mean. Where’s that drink then?”

“I took a jug of Valstiche from the feast,” said Erik, moving quickly to hide that his hands were yet shaking, “with flavours from Armando’s country, a mango-like fruit and a sharp tasting spice. Will that suit my precious prince’s palate?”

“That sounds delightful, thank you.”

They settled into the game, Charles playing white as he had since Erik taught him to play after his first diplomatic tour. The new Valstiche mix was delicious, refreshing and sweet. They talked at first of Cogollo University. Corazon had Genosha’s only University and Ierocis had the Military Academy. Charles was more heavily involved with the University than any previous patron, had studied there despite being so young, and had spent the majority of his recent travels in University towns and acquiring more texts for the library. The game remained secondary as Erik was drinking in Charles’ company, absent for nearly a year, and Charles was attempting to converse with his old friend through a veil of raging attraction while fighting to conceal it in his face and voice.

Eventually relaxing, Charles absent-mindedly reached out with his hand, Erik meeting it with his finger, and they played one handed while Charles clutched Erik’s finger as if he was still a baby and Erik was still eight. 

Charles won. He grinned so brightly, Erik was reminded he was only seventeen; he was so smart and they’d known each other so long, it was easy to forget it. Janos appeared and Charles smiled sadly at his silent assistant as he tucked a blanket over Charles’ legs. Erik’s heart thumped, he knew they were speaking in their heads and he felt cut, cut out.

 

XXX

 

There were four days of games during the Summer Festival. 

On the first day, were the fights. The people loved to fight against Erik, mainly because he was the only King competing in the games which were reserved for unmarried folk, and it gave them the chance to show off. 

Erik placed thirteenth in hand-to-hand combat, lost depressingly to a slip of a girl in the staff contests but no one could best him with a sword. They fought with blunted blades, scoring points. Erik fought with an unhinged grin, which reminded everyone watching how dangerous he could be.

There were display battles between those people with powers. Erik sat next to Charles, allowing him smear salve on his broken skin, and pretending not to be upset when his cousins displayed the metallokinesis Erik had expected to develop. The mage’s of each kingdom were present. Evangeline, Snawr-Hafa’s Dragon Protector, arrived in her red, dragon form, impressing on the crowds the might of her mountain kingdom by her sheer size. She quickly morphed into human form and joined Winston and Hazel Frost under their shade. Ororo, the beloved mage of the Summerlands, and Jean Grey, the hermit mage of Corazon, walked among the people arm in arm. People stopped them to chat or merely called out, “Bless you Storm,” or “Bless you Phoenix.” Sebastian Shaw was the mage of Ierocis Zeme and he was conferring with the Head of Genosha’s military institute, greedily assessing the talent.

On the second day, Erik beat Charles in the shooting but Charles got further in the archery. “Because you stole my first bow and arrow…” Erik muttered, a little too grumpily to be joking.

The third day was always racing and Erik sat them out at Charles’ side. Charles was cheering for Hank in the foot races and Raven on her horse, waving teal and rose-pink flags in the Corazon colours. Erik had many, many cousins to support, but Charles noticed he saluted any competitor from Ierocis Zeme.

Charles was carried down to the lake by Janos on the fourth day, and placed under a shade next to Emma. 

“I melt in the sun,” Emma claimed, peering toward the lake where the sun was bouncing back in blinding flashes.

“I go pink and my freckles fornicate and reproduce alarmingly,” said Charles. “Oh, sorry Emma. Inappropriate language.”

Emma rolled her eyes, then pointed to the shallows where Erik was standing, donning gloves and squinting at Charles. When he caught Charles’ eye, he stroked the blue and pink tunic he was wearing and winked.

Everything in Charles paused for a beat. He made a strangled noise and Emma glanced at him sharply. Charles didn’t notice, only watched Erik wade out to the boats, aware of how much he wanted to be with Erik on a national level. His lungs withered under the weight of frustration, making his breathing shallow. 

Emma picked his hand up and squeezed it. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he requested, knowing the uselessness of denying his heart in front of a telepath.

“You didn’t know?” Emma asked, while looking into the crowd and waving.

“Should I have?” Charles sounded bitter. “When there is no hope for it.”

“We are such good little political cogs,” Emma observed. Her tone was delicate and warm; ugly sadness underneath it, detectable only to Charles. It was his turn to assess her with new understanding.

“Yes,” he said, “we are.”

Erik won the boat race that afternoon and, according to tradition, presented his embroidered victory sash to Charles. Emma interrupted them with a delicate clearing of her throat before they stared at each other for too long. Charles needed the reminder that there were more people in his presence than just Erik, with his eyes like the lake and water still dripping down his collar. 

-Was it obvious? he asked her.

-No love, she said, and then out loud, “Must be time to prepare for the bonfire, if your Highness and your Grace would escort me?”

They made a pretty party back to the castle, Emma taking the brunt of the conversation.

 

XXX

 

Charles put in a cursory appearance at the bonfire. He was tired and sore, his tiredness making it hard to keep the enthusiastic voices damp in his head and his own thoughts from circling back to Erik. 

The chair couldn’t cover the terrain surrounding the bonfire easily; Charles suspected being carried around by another man was robbing his dignity like a leak in a water tank. He had Janos carry him down to the lake instead and set him down in a secluded area. The silent man’s hand curved over Charles’ hair, and Charles, grateful and pretending his eyes weren’t wet, gripped that hand and kissed the palm. 

“You’re a good friend,” he told Janos. Charles removed his clothing and began to drag himself to the water. Janos frowned and held his arms out. Charles sighed and nodded, so Janos picked him up, waded into the lake waist deep before placing Charles into it gently. 

The lake water was frigid. It felt glorious to Charles. As his legs submerged they regained feeling, prickly at first like pins and needles, as scales erupted over his skin and fused his legs together, and finally a complete and intricate control once his whole tail was formed. It wasn’t like the mermaid’s tails depicted in tapestries hung on Erik’s stone walls or the picture plates in nursery books, but long and thin, with a dorsal fin running like a fringe from tailbone to caudal fin and six lengthy ventral fins dotted in pairs down the tail to balance him out like a three legged stool. His caudal fin kept the same triangle shape only inverted, a fantail. The tail was white, pearlescent. Charles loved it. 

But he never revealed it. Most people didn’t know, pretended not to know, or had been paid not to know.

“Thank you,” Charles said to Janos, “go dry out by the fire.”

Charles pulsed out to the deep, tensing muscles and releasing them, his tail rippling transversely behind him like a ribbon. 

Charles loved his life, met his duties willingly, but he was dislocated on land. In water, Charles was thoroughly relaxed, no more hiding. He had full range of movement too, could propel himself by wiggling like a shark or a dolphin, the motion so powerful it made Charles feel full. 

And yet, even with that, even with the ability to breath in the depths, he couldn’t stay there. There was nothing to hear in his head underwater; it was nice for a break but lonely after too long. Charles had long ago surrendered the dream of an unfractured life. He would always be pulled in two disparate directions.

He was exploring around the Northern shore of the lake when a violent vibration ripped through the water and Charles felt it in his lungs. He spun and swam towards the source. There was another ripple, not the same boom from the shore, this was smaller as if something had hit the water. Charles hurried.

 

XXX

 

Erik had been locked in with the other Kings, Queens, mages, Emissaries and Councilors for the evening, although there was more drinking and back patting than policy making. The meeting room was smoky and smelly and stale. The only order of business they completed was a trading agreement with Dutukana. Emissary Munoz had proposed a comprehensive and reasonable contract from the tropical farming nation that Genosha was happy to sign.

When they broke the meeting to join the festivities at the bonfire, Erik tied his cloak and strode as fast as he could without breaking into undignified running. He searched the crowd, thrusting clumsy mental inquiries out to engender a response from Charles.

Instead he stumbled upon young Cordy Frost watching red skirted dancers twirling impossibly fast and leaping and sliding dexterously around their audience. She was swaying and clapping her hands, her straight dark hair escaping from its ribbons.

“Princess Cordelia,” he said, making a bow. She curtsied, sharp and simple. 

“Having fun, Iron?” she asked, getting away with being glib in the absence of her parents.

“It’s wonderful,” Erik said, as if he hadn’t noticed Cordelia’s cheekiness and he had noticed his surroundings. “Have you seen Prince Charles?”

”He’s gone to the lake. May I speak with you though? Please, your Grace.”

“Certainly. What would you like to converse with me about?” He didn’t look forward to the day when Cordy became another perfect, polished Snawr daughter.

“Your Grace,” she said, serious eyes shining in the fire light. “I want to be a great soldier. I can already ride my horse and shoot and spar with a staff better than my sisters and brother.”

“Yes, I saw you practise with Lady Darkholme and I was most impressed,” Erik told her.

“Did you?” she asked, face impossibly bright despite the shadows. “Well I thought… since you’re the King of Ierocis Zeme, where all the soldiers are trained, and you’re the best with a sword, maybe we should get married.”

Erik stared at her. He had no thoughts in his head, let alone words to pull a response together.

Cordy returned the stare, only her expression said clearly, ‘Keep up.’ She nudged him. “So I could train.” When he still didn’t respond, she added encouragingly, “and be Queen of the soldiers…”

Erik recovered himself. “I am so honoured you thought to include me in this plan,” he said formally, “however, I foresee a problem, Princess.” He knelt on one knee in front of her. She hadn’t seen puberty or a good growth spurt yet. “I will require my Queen to have children and being pregnant would interrupt and impede your training.”

Cordy sagged and frowned. She bit her lip. 

Erik feigned deep thought. “We may be able to arrange a better solution. What if, and no promises now, but what if I asked your father to let you be ward at Ierocis when you turn fourteen. I think, provided one of your sisters is married by then, he may be quite happy with an exchange and I have a cousin who would very much like to ward at Snawr-Hafa.”

“And you’d teach me to fight?” She was blindingly hopeful. Erik vowed to himself to secure her an Iron future.

“Yes. And ride, also strategy and languages and foreign customs, and all sorts of fun things. Sailing, cartography, oh, camouflage…”

“Battle plans?” she suggested. Her hand had snuck trustingly into his.

Erik chuckled. “You’re going to be one of my generals aren’t you?”

“You’re my favourite,” she said in his ear.

He scoffed, “Oh come on now, I know that’s not true. I’ve seen you sit at Prince Charles’ feet for hours during story time.”

She blushed. “Okay, Charles is my favourite, but you are second. Absolutely, no contest.”

“Shall I tell you a secret, Princess? Charles is my favourite too,” Erik confessed.

“That’s not a secret,” Cordy screwed her nose at him, “everyone knows that.”

“Oh,” said the King.

“Anyway, he’s gone to the lake. That edge,” she pointed to the west. “Will you tell me what Daddy says? About my being a soldier?”

“Of course,” Erik promised. He bent over her hand and winked. She giggled and turned back to the dancers.

Erik was stopped several times en route to the lake and greeted by upwards of twenty other people. Erik thought he was quite cordial given his impatience. The Summer Festival was the only informal opportunity for anyone to speak to royalty without waiting to be addressed first, or travelling to a quarterly appeal day, and Erik knew he needed to honour that tradition. 

As he left the crowds and picked his way down the rocky path, he saw Janos, sitting at a fire with some other shadows, the flames picking out random features of their bright faces and clothing to highlight. 

Erik had solitude for less than two minutes before his mage, Shaw, stepped into his path. 

“A word, your Grace,” he said and Erik could hear the disrespect eddying under the correct phrases. It made him give in, although by rights he could send Shaw away with a sneer, had seen his father do so in years past, but Erik nodded and followed the mage up a path to a small cliff. The moon was brilliant making sharp sparkles on the lake-top like constellations. They were about three metres above the water and Erik was struck with a curious thought of what it would feel like to be enveloped in the water tonight.

He was in the process of turning away and towards enduring Shaw when his body stiffened and stopped obeying him. There was a faint red rope of light cinching his arms to his sides and his legs together. He could still move his face and his muscles obeyed him within the confines of the magical restraints. “Shaw, what…” he started to demand.

“I want you gone,” said Shaw, naked emotion for once. “I tried binding your powers in hopes you would be passed over as King but you are still beloved. You retained leadership and forwarded the state of the country with your machinery, your anti-magic industry. Now, I have bound your body and you will be in no position to rule at the bottom of the lake.”

Erik panicked, sealing his own fate as his desperate anger surged out as energy toward Shaw, testing the magic bonds. But Shaw smirked cruelly and Erik realized his mistake a second late. Shaw’s greatest power was as a mirror, and he reflected the surge directly back at Erik, who was propelled to the cliff edge and, helpless, fell over.

He had a few seconds to fear for his people before the lake surface slapped his back and neck, cold and viciously rigid. 

Through the sparkling pinpricks of light crowding his focus, Erik saw a flash of white before another steel band attached itself to his chest. He started thrashing but it was too late. He was sinking away from the light and soon could not see anything. His body started fighting for air, dragging water into his nose and mouth.


	2. Diamonds

His lungs needed no prompting to suck in air when Erik, confused, broke the surface. 

“I’ve got you, Erik,” said Charles’ voice in his ear, but Erik just struggled, attempting to twist around. The bonds were still in place and tighter than before, hurting, pinching. Charles said firmly, “Erik, calm your mind.”

Erik, like a chastised child, became still and found room to wonder how Charles was towing him impossibly quickly back to shore.

“How?” said Erik.

“You’ll see,” Charles replied, grim.

When they came into the shallows, where Erik would have stood to walk, Charles kept swimming but slower, scraping their limbs against the pebbles. He sat, pulling Erik’s immobilised body into his lap and shuffling awkwardly onto the rocks. They managed to bend Erik by the waist as the magic was holding his arms and legs bound but was not otherwise affecting his movement and Erik caught sight of what he was sitting on. It was a unique and surprisingly handsome tail, unlike any sea creature Erik had ever seen, and he was King of a country that lived off the bounty of the sea. He could not tell, even while looking directly at the area, where Charles’ pale hips transmuted to a soft glimmer of imbricated scales, where Charles changed from boy to… to… whatever this meant. 

“But,” said Erik, hushed, “I’ve seen your legs.”

“I’ll change when I’m no longer immersed,” Charles explained. “I’ll get Janos to fetch Shaw so we can get you free of these.”

“No! It was him. Don’t…” Erik frowned, “I need to think what to do about him. He’s a traitor, has been for a while.”

“I’ll call the Dragon Protector,” Charles said.

They heard Vange before they could make out her deep red hide in the dark, the beat of her wings was thumping in Erik’s head. She was descending very close to them and gusts of displaced air whipped Charles’ hair and chilled Erik’s wet body, as if the dragon’s visceral power was breathing straight in the face of Erik’s vulnerability. The young King had to work to stretch a stern face over his disquiet.

The dragon landed, slinking forward with much more grace than could be credited for a creature of such bulk. Her head, swaying forward to observe Erik’s stiff form, stopped an inch away from his torso and was equal in length to it.

-Greetings, Prince of Hearts. Please pass my regards to the Iron King, she sent Charles mind-to-mind. 

The feel of her voice in his head was grating, diamond scratched over glass.

-Thank you for coming, Dragon Protector. I will, of course, translate for you. 

“Erik, Evangeline greets you.”

Erik’s eyes managed to find contact with one of hers, with some wiggling and Charles adjusting by rolling sideways and tucking a strong arm across his chest. “Thank you for attending me, Dragon Protector. I hope, in the future, I may find a way to serve you, though it could never compare to this rescue.”’

-He is very welcome, she informed Charles. -I quite like him, you know.

Charles smiled and said, “You’re welcome,” to Erik.

Vange breathed out, a neon purple mist unravelling from her fist sized nostrils and cloaking Erik.

“Oh,” breathed Charles, enchanted. The mist felt like the most gentle fingers, probing and soothing at once. Erik’s skin and clothing heated and dried, and Charles felt, rather than heard, the investigative nature of the dragon’s magic breath.

Vange held her front leg forward. -Prince of Hearts, if you would, take a scale from my arm and place it on his forehead.

Charles did, though his fingernails split against her hard, protective skin and some of his blood was smeared on it when he finally got it away. He went to wipe the scale clean, only to be halted.

-Prince. I would have had to take some of your blood, or mine, next anyway. It will fulfil a purpose, if you would leave it.

Charles straightened Erik out on the pebbles and pressed the scale between Erik’s eyebrows. The King shuddered, not a tremor of cold or fear, but one convulsion from head to toe. Then Vange reached out her claw and began to pull at the red strands. When he saw them come away, Charles tugged at them too and Erik jerked to shrug the cords off his limbs.

“Thank you,” Erik said. He stood and bowed.

The dragon nodded her heavy head and leapt into flight.

Erik squeezed Charles’ hand and tipped his head toward Charles’ tail. “Does your mother know?”

Charles nodded, his eyes averted. “Yes,” he confessed, “the nanny told her when it first happened. You’ve guessed it happened at the same time as I lost the use of my legs. It was, of course, kept quiet, the nanny paid off, and only other people who know are Janos, Emma, whoever cursed me and now you.”

“There are more people who know about your telepathy,” Erik noted.

“It was harder for me to learn how to hide that,” said Charles with a touch of regret.

“We are both cursed,” realised Erik. “Shaw said he bound my powers.”

Charles puffed out a regretful sigh. “I’m sorry Erik. I know it pains you not to have had powers. Maybe, though, you could find a way to break the curse? It’s magic at the source of your lack of magnetism, not genetics.”

Erik’s eyes widened in wonder, a look Charles hadn’t seen on Erik’s face since Erik’s parents were still alive.

“Charles. You are a genius. I can. I’m sure I can.” Erik’s voice was pitched high and loud. He ran his hand over his slack jaw and laughed, tentative huffs. “Do you really think…?” he asked, turning a round-eyed gaze on Charles.

Charles nodded, “It’s quite possible, Erik. There’s no guarantee but this is a whole new possible line of inquiry. Magic usually has an out-clause written into it, as it’s all about balance, you know.”

Erik laughed again, light, carefree, stunned. “I do know that. But you shouldn’t. Your mother would be horrified to hear you speaking like a pagan.”

Charles laughed too. “Did you see Mother and Trask yesterday, trying not to see Vange in dragon form despite her being large enough to block out the sun?”

They laughed until Erik was giddy, and men from Ierocis Zeme were never giddy. Without thinking, he gripped Charles by the shoulders and leaned in to kiss him. 

Charles stiffened and Erik jerked away before he made contact, a stern, regal expression replacing the fright that flashed, lightning fast, on his face.

“My apologies, your royal HIghness,” the King said smoothly, and Charles hated the lack of tremor in Erik’s tone when his own blood was surging like the ocean at the North point of the peninsula. He looked at his tail instead of Erik.

“Pull me out, will you Erik?” he said. 

Erik did, hefting Charles into his arms and placing him gently on the stones. He watched in awe and anxiety as Charles curled into foetal position and suffered the change. Erik shrugged out of his drenched tunic and draped it over Charles for modesty. Charles smiled at him, but without quite looking him in the eye.

Janos came clumping out of the bushes, crunching over the pebbles in contrast to his usual soundless movement. Erik’s glance towards Charles was sharp and suspicious. How much had he mentally passed on to Janos, on top of their location and the command to attend him, to have Janos arrive in such a way?

Erik hovered, delicately averting his attention, while Janos helped Charles dress in the pile of clothes he’d brought down. Janos carried Charles through the knee-high shrubs in the direction of the castle and Erik followed, flicking his eyes between the top of Charles’ head to the sharp creases in Janos’ jacket. His mood was as mercurial as his scrutiny, fluctuating from exhilarated, when he remembered the new possibilities around the curse, to chilling misgiving, when he remembered the speed with which Charles had backed off from the aborted kiss. 

Erik was a foolish boy in a King’s robe. Powers or not, he couldn’t have Charles. But to lose his friendship as well? His heart sank to his soles and squished around in his water-heavy boots with his toes.

The view of Charles’ hair, spread in an undulating fan, suddenly became Charles’ piercing eyes and his dear nose as he rested his chin on Janos’ shoulder to smile ruefully back at Erik.

Erik smiled back. He had never denied Charles yet, and they watched each other with accustomed affection for the remaining trudging miles.

 

XXX

 

Emma was very aware of how she was perceived, disdain from the ancient bloodlines of Ierocis and Corazon, awe tinged with pity from the fun-loving Summer folk. Snawr-Hafa was a callow nation, its conception by her ancestors as a mining town not in living history, but the day the Genosha council granted the Frost family a crown almost was. 

She was weaving in and out of people. Father was nervous about his daughters being amongst the populace but Emma could read minds and knew when she was safe. And the Summer Festival, especially the Bonfire night, was traditionally a breach of classes. Emma tried to be a good girl, and really she was. She was proud of her family’s rise to power but, by the Dragon Protector, there was something thrilling about the chaos of all the myriad minds spilling past her as she weaved and weaved. They stirred something in her, more so than the brightly coloured clothes, the resounding music and the rowdy shouting she was part of.

“Your Highness!” someone was yelling, “Princess Emma!”

It was clearly Scott. Emma turned to him, almost gasping with the enthusiasm shooting off him. Alex was with him and he smiled at Emma, a shared smirk about the puppy-like behaviour of his little brother.

“Did you see the acrobats?” Scott asked. “Corazon brought them in from abroad and there are singers from the Cassidy country…” He tugged on her sleeve.

“Scott,” said Alex, disapprovingly, “Scott!”

“What? We’re wasting time.”

“Manners. Emma is a Princess.”

“Yes,” agreed Scott, “but it’s Emma.”

Alex held his arm out for Emma and she took it, gliding beside him through the throngs of pale, broad Ierocis faces mingling with sharp, tanned Summer folk. 

The acrobats were truly amazing. They contorted themselves into impossible shapes and flipped over each other with split second timing. They balanced on chairs and stilts and on stacks of other acrobats. Emma found the performance particularly edgy as she kept absorbing the tension from the troupe risking injury for their entertainment.

Alex wandered off with Emissary Munoz and Emma followed Scott to listen to the singers. They found a spot near a bonfire and settled on a blanket someone offered them. The bonfire was snapping and spitting, heat searing Emma’s left arm while goosebumps raised on her right. Scott noticed, running one finger over her chilly arm. “Cold, Em?” he asked, and tucked her under his arm. She let his warmth flow over her in concert with the eerie tones of the Cassidy country harmonies.

After a while, Emma let her head loll back onto Scott’s shoulder. He was as comforting as a lullaby and she closed her eyes. 

Scott sighed. “I miss you, Em. It’s not the same when we have to keep our manners around everyone else. It’s best when it’s just you and me.”

Emma hummed a non-committal agreement but Scott’s voice saying, ‘just you and me’ echoed in her ears the rest of the night and it was much harder to silence than her other desires.

 

XXX

 

Charles sighed as he placed a lightweight crown on his rigorously brushed hair. They were at Frost Palace in Snawr-Hafa for a ball, his first engagement since the Summer Festival that necessitated a crown. He'd had months of a gloriously bare head and now the rose gold pinched and reminded him of things that his position prevented him from having.

Raven was crouching on the floor to the great distress of her taffeta ball gown.

“Darling, can you fix this?” Charles asked her flicking his waist sash. She moved to tug it impatiently into place, grumbling under her breath. 

“You look amazing, Raven,” Charles told her. Her flouncy gown was sea green with scaly teal trim so there didn’t appear to be a defining point between her bright blue skin and the gown. Her red hair was in short curls as fluffy as the gown and held back by diamond tipped hair pins. She was barefoot for now but there were white ballet slippers that Charles would probably need to remind her to put on before they went along to the ballroom.

She rolled her eyes at him. “You know what I look really great in? The Corazon Military Defence uniform.”

“Raven,” sighed Charles, rubbing his hand tiredly over his face. “You would have been so much happier if you’d been ward in Ierocis or even Summer. But we stopped a financial and social crisis by taking you in. Your parents and your country are doing fantastically thanks to this negotiation. Choices make ripples whether you are a vendor or a King. They are never really personal.”

“It’s not fair,” she pouted.

“Come on, let’s go to the ball,” said Charles. “I’ll sneak you some caramel Valstiche.”

They began the commute from the guest wing in Frost Palace toward the ballroom. It was quite dark at this hour, as the year was deep into Autumn now, and lamps had been lit in the tall sconces at regular intervals casting the chilled walkway into warm light. Janos was pushing Charles’ chair, and they were met by the large, boisterous Cassidy clan at a link in the hallway. The Cassidys held the country positioned two days travel inland but had a prolific family tree with a cousin grafted into each of the Genoshian bloodlines throughout history.

Lady Cassidy kissed Charles on the cheek. “What an opulent time we are having,” she remarked. “Snawr-Hafa seems determined to highlight every way in which they are not Summer. I vow I have never been so spoiled.”

“And yet, I would have thought you deserved to be spoiled in such a way everyday, my Lady,” returned Charles.

“Save it for the unmarried gels, your Highness,” she smirked, before hurrying after one of her brood.

Just before Raven took Sean Cassidy’s arm and scampered off to cause some form of chaos, she whispered to Charles, in a voice exactly like the Queen of Corazon, “You would be well advised to look amongst this company for a bride, dear. There isn’t much political gain but the dowry would be enormous.”

Charles laughed with her, hiding a wash of nausea. The Cassidy ladies were lovely, but any thought of marriage now turned instantly to Erik and Charles felt the bruising ache of banging his heart against a stone wall.

Charles’ chair rolled into the ballroom. Snawr-Hafa had outdone themselves. It was like being inside a prism; not a single colour in the decorations but with light reflecting an array of coloured beams and mirrors framing the scene in on itself, over and over. Guests were dancing. Snawr dancing, and music, was very stately. Partners brushed past each other, standing upright, touching briefly fingertip to fingertip and weaving in and out in a pattern that resembled a kaleidoscopic snowflake if one watched from the balcony. There was no such thing as working up a sweat at a ball in Snawr-Hafa.

Charles sent Emma a brief mental shoulder pat and a -You look exquisite, Princess.

He received a self satisfied -I should hope so, in return.

Sean and Raven were attacking a hapless waiter for his canapé tray. Charles thought about apologising and then just took the chance to ask him to fetch mint and lemon Valstiche. 

With a drink in hand, he became entrenched in a conversation about medicine with Emissary Munoz, whose country had very hands-on medical techniques, the description of which fascinated Charles. He’d called Dr McCoy over and invited Armando to visit Corazon and speak with them some more on the topic, when Erik’s mind distracted him.

It was, as usual, covering several trains of thought at once: a machine that was functioning but not safe enough for his people to operate yet, how many over excited females he would have to dance with to be polite, and… oh… what colour Charles would be wearing and if he had any new freckles since the Summer festival.

Charles was forced, pink and apologetic, to have Armando repeat himself. His colour deepened even further when Armando merely winked and replied, “I understand, your Highness, I saw him arrive.” The diplomat bowed and took his leave, promising to visit or even to arrange for a medical expert to sail from Dutukana. 

Hank followed him saying, “Can I ask you about technology in Dutukana, your Excellency?”

“Your Highness,” said Erik’s rumbling, elegant voice at Charles’ shoulder.

“Your Grace,” Charles returned charmingly and smiled up at him. “God, Erik. What is that purple monstrosity you’re drinking?”

“It’s Valstiche mixed with blau augli and snow. The Snawrs made it specifically for the guests from Ierocis.”

Charles looked doubtful, “At least there is no herring in it. There’s no herring in it, is there?”

“You’re not too old to discipline, Princeling,” Erik threatened, and Charles laughed because there was no one in life that made him feel safer than this stern faced man.

“Tell me about the latest from Azazel,” prompted Charles. Sebastian Shaw had proven too slippery to catch when Erik and some guards went to arrest him on the bonfire night. Erik had warned the Genosha council of Shaw’s traitor status and Azazel had immediately volunteered to co-ordinate a search for him.

“They followed some leads but lost him. Azazel will come back soon to gather more men and research. I wish I was looking.”

“Oh no, you… Azazel is highly qualified and has taken a brilliant team with him.” Charles’ face suddenly clouded over with mischief, “You’re better off tinkering with your toys and parading in front of the soldiers on that bay devil, Heph.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Erik, struggling to keep a mild expression in place. “Heph is obedient, intelligent, loving… a champion horse in all disciplines. Granted, he can be a trifle spirited…”

“Excuse me, Erik,” Charles interrupted, smiling at Erik angelically. “I have to go and charm some people.”

“What a good start you’ve made,” said Erik, sourly. “Yes, I had better dance with some hopefuls. Driz?”

“Yes, you will see me soon,” Charles promised, responding to Erik’s Ierocis slang without having to translate it in his head.

 

XXX

 

Emma knew she was glittering to rival the ballroom. Adrienne and herself were optimal examples of Corazon etiquette training polished with Snawr money. Father had all his hopes for Snawr-Hafa strapped to Adrienne’s pale shoulders; their brother was incapable of getting through a day without guzzling Valstiche or inhaling fumes from Cadah tree sap. Emma glimpsed Christian now, reclining scandalously on a window seat and the Worthington heir. His hair was sticking out on one side, his eyes half-lidded and Warren’s hand was sneaking into Christian’s undone shirt. 

This should have been amusing. The Frost siblings loved to outshine each other, but Emma wasn’t having fun. Scott was behaving oddly. He was always close to Emma, no matter where she drifted in the ballroom, but had yet to engage her in conversation. If he was trying to prank her, he’d forgotten she was a telepath with bendy scruples.

Emperor Winston stood above his guests and tapped his glass for attention. As he welcomed the company, Emma angled herself toward Scott and gracefully turned her head to raise her eyebrow at him. 

His face was a shock, agitated and adrift. He erased it quickly though, a furious frown replacing the painfully lost look. Scott’s chin lifted and his attention was forcefully directed at Emma’s father.

“And now,” Emperor Frost continued, “I am proud to announce the engagement of my eldest daughter, the Princess Adrienne, to the eldest son of Summer, Alexander.”

He continued to speak but it was all just whistling wind and bees humming. Emma’s mind was as choppy as the sea of the Iron cliffs. She didn’t have to marry Alex. Adrienne would be Queen of Summer and give them the little Summer heirs. She didn’t have to marry Alex. If Emma wanted to rule, and stay on the peninsula, she would have to marry Charles or Erik; she had been relentlessly dangled in front of Erik, Alex and Charles as bait for wedlock after all. She didn’t have to marry Alex. Oh, what if… unless… could Emma be the Snawr-Hafa heir now? She had always believed Adrienne would marry from offshore and assume control of Snawr. Daddy favoured Adrienne, had been grooming her to rule. And if she were unavailable, surely Daddy wouldn’t rely on Christian?

Emma started to gather other people’s reactions. Christian was not paying any attention; Warren’s hands were curling through his hair and one of the nomadic dancers had her lips pressed on his collarbone. Adrienne and Alex were standing together, politely nodding, neither looked comfortable, let alone pleased. Scott had disappeared.

Charles’ warm voice sounded in her head, all faux sympathy and amusement, -Oh dear Emma, it looks as if you shall have to marry me after all, and I shall be such a demanding spouse.

Emma looked around for Charles but caught Erik’s eye instead. The King gave a curt shake of his head and mouthed, ‘Not me. You promised.’

Emma giggled, bell tones bubbling to the ceiling. She inclined her head regally towards Charles, a pretence of acceptance for his parody suit. A suit that wouldn’t be terrible: being married to Charles would be fun, except Corazon was very misogynistic and a married Queen of Hearts was allowed to rule only over menus and curtain colours. Emma had too much ambition for that; would never let her abilities lie wasted.

She could tell Erik was moving the Adrienne and Alex pieces around the Genosha chessboard in his head. Emma sighed. He was such a good King, and she would be Queen immediately, no waiting to rule, should she marry him. His fustiness could be bearable even if his constant coal-and-fish aroma might not be. 

If thought of kissing Erik to get a baby was mildly nauseating, the thought of kissing Charles was so hilarious that Emma, regardless of a frightening level of intelligence, simply couldn’t imagine it. Besides, Charles and Erik clearly loved each other, and Emma would prefer to be first choice for her future husband.

Where in all the Dragon Protected lands was Scott? 

And quite out of the blue, while frozen in a ballroom and draped in white Corazon silk and Snawr-Hafa diamonds, Emma knew it was time to stop denying the dreams she had of marriage.

It was time to cheat. Emma unfurled her telepathy.

 

XXX

 

Charles did his duty and engaged with Princess after Honourable Lady after visiting Dignitary. He asked to be excused from dancing, procured them Valstiche in whichever mix they preferred, and led them in polite conversation comparable to the pre-designed movements of the Snawr dances. “How was your journey here? What a delightful dress, is it a good example of the fashion of your country? What are your favourite things to do? Hasn’t Snawr Hafa put on a fabulous ball?”

The young lady dancing with Erik stood on his foot, blushed excessively, and broke the pattern of the dance to stammer apologies. Erik calmed her and led her back into place.

-Ouch, Charles offered him mentally, half sympathy, half amusement.

-Don’t laugh, when you were little you would dance by standing on my feet, that is I would dance, you would catch a lift and then brag about how well you’d done.

-Good god, Erik. That was fifteen years ago. I assure you, could I use my legs, I would no longer crush your metatarsals while dancing with you.

The dance ended. Erik slid into his place by Charles’ shoulder.

“Do you miss it?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” said Charles. “Yes.” He looked up. Erik was looking down. Charles jutted his chin out. He hated pity, but then Erik was from Ierocis Zeme where pity was an emotion they didn’t tolerate.

“I have an idea,” said Erik, and pushed Charles’ chair rapidly from the ballroom, collecting an Ierocis guard on the way.

They marched through the vast corridors without interaction until they got to stairs.

“May I carry you?” enquired Erik, formally.

“Yes?” said Charles, worriedly. He was not a light man despite the chair and his shorter stature, but there was no avoiding stairs in Snawr Palace, which was built on various levels on the mountainous terrain. Charles was scooped up and Erik descended the stairs carefully.

Their journey ended outside the doors to the Palace pool, built into a cave around a natural formation. Erik sent the guard inside to make sure the space was unoccupied.

“Erik, what are we doing?” Charles whispered.

Erik smirked. “Dancing,” he said.

The guard confirmed the absence of anyone in the cave and Erik ordered him to let no one in before he carried Charles inside and deposited him at the edge of the pool.

Charles immediately started tugging at his waist sash and shrugging off his jacket. Erik was stripped down to undershorts and he dropped off the side. “Come in,” he encouraged, wiping water from his eyes. 

“Sorry,” said Charles, pausing with his thumbs hooked in the waistband of his underpants. “I have to take these off because they tear when I transform.”

“Uh,” said Erik. Then he snapped his jaw shut and turned away. Charles whipped the garment off quickly and rolled into the pool. Charles’ constant pain eased off immediately and he moaned, stretching his arms wide, as the buzz of returning feeling flowed down his body. He flicked a little water at Erik who was still faced away to preserve Charles’ modesty. Erik turned, grinned and dove under. Charles submerged too and swam spirals around him, his tail propelling him swiftly and with incredible accuracy. Erik came up for air but Charles stayed down exploring the space, hand brushing all the walls of the pool, before he met Erik treading water in the centre.

Erik was smiling and looked like he was ten years old again. “Your honourable Highness, Prince Xavier of Corazon, Charles, would you complete my night by dancing with me?”

“There’s no music,” Charles pointed out.

Erik put his hand on his chest where his heart was thumping, skittish and serious like a snare drum marching to battle. “Here’s the beat,” he said.

Charles laughed. He put his arm around Erik’s waist and began to tow him and spin him around the pool. Erik put his arms around Charles and let himself be transported.

Charles’ tail kept bumping into Erik’s long legs. “Sorry,” he said for the ninth time. “It’s like I’m standing on your toes after all.”

Erik held him a little tighter. “Keep swimming,” he demanded, trying not to internalise the sensation of the undulating thrusts Charles’ body was making as he twirled them around their personal dance floor. Their faces were so close, Erik could hear every hard breath, and he tried to make his hands lie still in a functional way, resisted digging his fingertips in and dragging them over the freckles to see if he could gather any of them to keep.

Charles nudged Erik’s knee again during a sharp change of direction. “Let’s try this,” Charles suggested and one hand stroked up the back of Erik’s thigh to hook it over his hip. He swapped hands and did it with the other leg.

He swept them around the pool, faster and more smoothly, intricate pirouettes. Erik clutched the rippling shoulders under his hands and linked his feet behind Charles’ back.

“Take a breath,” warned Charles and they were somersaulting and rolling rapidly at descending depths. Charles lightly scraped Erik’s shoulder on the bottom of the pool and sped them back to the surface.

As soon as he drew in breath, Erik was laughing. His gaze welcomed Charles into the private, intimate corners of himself.

Charles sobered and tilted his head. “I know you love me Erik.”

Erik nodded, hesitant but relieved.

“I know you can’t do anything about it,” Charles said, his hands clasping Erik urgently. “I love you too. And I can’t do anything about it.”

Erik nodded a second time. He stared at Charles for an instant, intense like pressing a seal on wax to make an imprint. Then he let go and swam to the edge of the pool. “Thank you for the dance,” he said, and he got out. 

Charles submerged to lay at the bottom of the pool. His heart was a stone that kept him there. When he finally surfaced, Janos was waiting.

 

XXX

 

Although Scott was in the empty supper room, he had no attention to spare the shining metal tables and clear glass plates awaiting their purpose. And though he had his head in his hands, he knew the second Emma came into the room.

“You found me,” he said, not ready to look up. “Did you cheat?” It was an old conversation, the same question asked during every hide-and-seek game growing up. He would believe her whatever she said.

“I did this time, yes. You don’t seem happy for the happy couple?” Her tone was glib and amused, the Princess of the court voice she had assumed around the time they started to drift apart, and it irritated Scott like grit in a wound.

“I’m ecstatic!” Scott cried out, leaping up and looking at her finally. She was regarding him doubtfully. By the sun! she was so beautiful. Before he could halt it, his relief became words. “I’m being truthful. I’m so happy. Emma, I knew this was about Alex’s engagement and I…” his voice cracked, “I thought it was you, by all the winter storms, Emma. I thought it was you. I’m so relieved. I don’t know… but I get itchy and angry when I think about you getting married.” She tipped her head to one side, and he looked away to say, “Sorry. I know it’s none of my concern.”

“Perhaps, you should make it your concern,” Emma suggested casually.

Scott jerked his head up. She was scrunching her nose up. She used to do it when they were younger and she was pushing her natural sense of humour beneath the inscrutable facade they were training her to wear all the time.

“Would you be amenable to that?” he asked, and even he knew his face resembled a confused puppy.

“Yes,” she said simply, smiling at one corner of her mouth.

“But I won’t be King,” Scott blurted.

“I know. And I do really want to be Queen,” Emma said plainly. 

Scott’s stomach stung at the admission, stung and revolted against its contents. Emma knew him so well though. She put her delicate hand high on his belly, and said wistfully, “Couldn’t we think of something as good as being King and Queen to do together?”

“Emma,” Scott said, covering her hand with his. Her eyes twitched with something darker than usual. It was fear, Scott realised. He hadn’t seen her scared for years, since they were ten and last went skinny dipping and she was being admonished for being too old to do so and Hazel Frost cried and said, “No one will want you now, stupid girl.” He slid his fingers between hers. “We’re an exceptional pair, you and I,” he told her. “I guarantee we can devise something.”

“Well,” she amended, “I can think up something and you can see it skilfully done.”

They smiled at each other, in comfortable accord.

“Will they let us?” Scott wondered, as he pushed his glasses back up his nose.

Emma smirked. “You just pointed out what a great pair we are. Christian will support us and Charles and, possibly King Erik.”

Scott’s belly still felt uncomfortable, although now, it was anxious like a piglet wriggling in a sack. He wanted to kiss Emma but he was still a little frightened of her. Still they used to be free to be themselves around each other and they’d just agreed to be a team. He didn’t want to wreck that team though and, even though he didn’t ever mean to, he did seem to annoy people.

And then she stepped forward and pressed her lips to his cheek. It was Emma, his friend, only she smelled like flowers and herbs now instead of duckweed and horse, and her hair tickled his face where, when they were little it would stick to him. The wriggling sensation had abandoned his stomach and was climbing his spine now. 

Emma swayed back. “I liked that,” she admitted.

“Poor Alex,” Scott snorted. “He has to kiss Adrienne.”

Emma laughed outright. “Poor Adrienne. She has to kiss Alex.”

“I, however, have triumphed,” Scott crowed.

Emma rolled her eyes, “Have you?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning in to kiss her lips for two laggard breaths, every cell in his body singing in victory.

“Let’s dance,” Emma suggested.

Scott offered her his arm. “You look pretty tonight, Em.”

“Thank you,” she said, her shoulders and face stabilizing until she was exhibiting her customary elegant mien. “You look less like a puppy than usual.”

 

XXX

 

Charles and Erik were forced to face each other over a late lunch in Emma’s rooms, although Erik thought he wouldn’t have lasted much longer before seeking Charles out anyway.

Emma had laid out warm honeyed milk with dark rye crackers and slices of meat from various birds, soft cheeses and sprigs of bitter herbs. There was a pot of tea for Charles. Scott was fidgeting in one of Emma’s straight-backed chairs.

“We’re asking for your help,” Emma said frankly, the second she had finished serving their plates. No one blinked at her brusqueness. Erik was too forthright himself to take offence, Scott too socially clumsy and Charles had never stood on ceremony with Emma. “Scott and I wish to make a match.”

Scott’s face erupted in a victorious grin, and Charles and Erik glanced at each other and grinned themselves.

“Whatever I can do, Princess,” Erik promised.

“Of course I’ll assist you. I think it’s wonderful,” Charles assured them. “I mean to say, if you are that desperate not to marry me,” he added, adopting a posture of false concern.

“Pardon?” Scott protested.

“Honestly Charles,” Erik put in, “don’t start a war.”

“No let’s plan an engagement instead,” Emma insisted.

This was an extremely promising development for Erik. He could give or take Scott but had a great deal of unexpressed respect for Emma. He’d thought for years he would prefer her in a seat on the Peninsula Planning Council in the future rather than being married off abroad to satisfy some trade deal. Erik would do all he possibly could to manoeuvre Emma’s progressive thinking into a position of power in peninsula politics.

The King and his precocious, youthful companions settled in to brainstorm. 

When the quartet were satisfied with their plan of action, Erik asked Charles if he could escort him anywhere. Charles knew they really needed to agree on their own plan of action.

Erik steered Charles out into the hallways of Snawr-Hafa’s exquisite mountainside warren. The passages were grand but narrow, especially compared to Corazon’s broad, open-aired walkways, but Erik had to walk behind him to push the chair anyway and Charles was glad for the reprieve of having to control the expression on his face.

They nodded to Alex and Armando, who stopped hissing furiously at each other to nod distractedly back, and Charles tucked his lap rug in tighter to combat the austere chill of the palace on his flimsy Corazon fabrics and was soon afterwards draped in Erik’s fur-lined Ierocis cloak.

“Thank you,” Charles said. “Have you any idea how to proceed from here?”

Erik didn’t bother to pretend he didn’t understand. “I’ve been thinking about coming to seek out Jean Grey. If there really is a chance I could have powers, Charles, I must take it. I wish…” He stopped by a portrait of Lindor Frost and sat on the stone bench, angling towards Charles’ chair. “I wish we could talk about this and all I needed to discuss was how much better my day is when you’re around, and how much I want to kiss you, and how I don’t believe I’ll ever find another person to love half as much as I love you. But we cannot. We must have a staid, responsible negotiation. But, Charles, don’t think this sober, frustrating conversation represents my level of feeling for you at all.”

Charles just shook his head, relying on years of training to keep his forehead from furrowing and the prickling in his nose from becoming tears. Verbally responding, however, was beyond him.

Erik nodded. He understood. They didn’t really need words or telepathy these days anyway.

“If the Phoenix…” Erik began to say. “With my powers intact, I could marry you. It wouldn’t be opposed, we’d be in a solid enough position that our ward or adopted heir would be accepted as next to rule.”

Charles could picture it so clearly, and despite having never before allowed himself the hope to fantasize about it, immediately he ached with homesickness because it just seemed so untenable. 

Erik put his hand on Charles’ lap with his finger out and Charles clutched it. “Will Corazon accept it Charles, if we pick the right heirs? One with magic ability for Iron and one without for Hearts?”

“I don’t know Erik,” he chuckled, “Occasionally it would be handy to be an oracle. At any rate, I’d rather do anything that might help than not try at all. Although, how I will survive it if we cannot navigate this political reef, I do not know nor wish to consider.”

“I’m expecting Azazel back in a sennight, and there’s a problem in one of the factories, so I’ll visit at the end of the month.”

Charles sighed, “I’m very practised at burying my hopes and my heart deep down. But one cycle of the moon suddenly seems a very long time.”


	3. Hearts

Corazon was on the East of Genosha. The land descended from the spine of the peninsula so gradually, Charles had passed three different regional dialects on the journey back from Snawr-Hafa en route to ciudad Latido, Corazon’s capital, on the coast. He was travelling with Armando by train and pointing out the orchards and wheat fields, describing the fruit and baking that resulted from their produce. At their stops, Charles was very proud to be introducing him to his genial but gentiel people, who adored Charles but were often dismayed by his forward thinking. Corazonites were a people who eschewed magic in favour of religious faith and prioritized rules and education above force, elegance above fervour, and were dedicated to a Prince who was uncomfortably hiding his magic. 

Charles was unable to hide his pleased countenance when the capital’s architecture, containing a lot of split-levels and complicated overhangs and rounded walls, came into view. The Corazon people had a love of courtyards, verandas and gardens placing as much importance on them as their interiors, as the weather was warm and breezy and they loved to be outdoors as much as possible. 

“Everything is so grand,’” Armando said, as the carriage took them from Latido station to the alcazar. 

“We can be a tad self-important,” Charles observed, laughing. “We always use the highest quality materials in dress and buildings and food…. Well, everything.” 

“And yet, the effect is not fussy,” insisted Armando, still staring. “That should not be architecturally possible!” He pointed as they passed by a large, round balcony which protruded with no obvious support over the garden below.

“Adornments are considered gauche,” Charles explained. “You’ll notice that, while that balcony is made with the best imported stone and the lines are smooth and clean, there isn’t any engraving, no fancy fretwork, no emblazoned name or family reference. The deck itself is art, so there is no need to add art to it.”

Emissary Armando was a pleasant addition to the court at Latido; he conversed smoothly with the Queen, drew intricate drawings of botany for Hank and smiled openly at the people they passed when Charles showed him around the alcazar and the city. Armando was a bit older at five and twenty but Charles had a brain which didn't lag in conversation whether it was mild chit-chat or in-depth politics. Armando had travelled extensively in his country and the surrounding nations, and Charles and Hank were fascinated with his stories, delighting when they could find common ground in their cultural history or language, given Dutukana had been colonized by the same peoples that pioneered Corazon. Charles was becoming very fond of him, his humour and the ease at which he followed a foreign courts rhythm without tripping on any of the intricacies of manners.

“I have a little magic,” Armando disclosed to Charles, over iced tarts and a perfectly brewed pot of tea. “Rapid and advanced adaptation ability. It helps in my diplomatic position.” Charles’ eyes lit up with curiosity and he fired off an impromptu interrogation. Armando rolled his eyes but answered amiably enough.

This was Armando's first time in a temperate zone and he often had his stiff, colourful jacket pulled tight by sunset. But it was not discomfit or homesickness that caused Armando's smile to fall from his face when no one was looking, more likely this was related to the scarf Charles saw him fingering with some compulsion. Charles did not need to read Armando’s mind to be aware of each occasion the Dutukanian’s mood shunted rapidly low; the difficulty was how to speak with him of it.

He determined to do so one morning after breakfast, when the mail was brought in from Summer. Armando’s face tightened while reading his letter and he shakily excused himself.

Charles found him later in the alcazar library. “Is everything well with you, Mr Munoz?” he asked, when Janos had left them alone.

The Emissary’s dark eyes were both amused and annoyed. “It seems I am have failed to remain unexposed,” Armando said, “although a person with secrets will often be exposed by another person with secrets. I know there are things you keep from the public, although I don't know details.” 

Charles remained quiet. After an uncomfortable silence, Armando began to reminisce about the Summer festival and they left the topic for the time being. But Charles had not dropped it altogether. He would bide his time. There was always a way to work around the barbs to harvest the bayas.

 

XXX

 

No matter how frequently the Genoshian nobility visited each other, Corazon welcomed them with pomp. Erik rode past people, lined up and waving, from the station to the alcazar where Charles was waiting with the Queen. The Queen consort, Marko, the Prime Minister, Trask, and Raven were standing directly behind them. He was offered a warm, damp cloth and fruit drink and small cakes from the second he set his foot on the ground. Hopefully, he managed to convey some gratitude while waving them aside but all he could think of was Charles, who was rosy and fond and, Gods, Charles had been right, a month was too long.

Erik bowed low for Queen Sharon, inclined his head for Trask and Marko, and restrained himself from kneeling in front of Charles to rest his head in the blanketed lap, keeping it to a moderate bend at the waist. The alcazar staff always followed the Queen's directives exactly and Erik knew if he really wished he could request otherwise but it wasn't worth it so he followed the mayordomo to his rooms and took the time to change his outer cloak and dust off his boots.

He'd barely finished when Charles snuck in anyway.

“Erik,” he said, wheeling up and holding out his hand. Erik took it; he never remembered how vital Charles could feel through skin until that first contact.

‘Gods,’ Erik thought, ‘let this be it, the solution for us.’ He wanted to say it out loud, but couldn't. And it wasn't as if Charles couldn’t understand him via telepathy or simply the results of years of friendship. Instead, Erik steadily said, “It's good to see you, Charles.”

Charles smiled. Everything on his face lifted with it. “I wish we could go right away,” he said.

“First thing in the morning, alright?”

They grinned at each other again and then Charles escorted him to one of the terraces, round and shaded with sheets of brocade, where the household was gathered for an alfresco feast. Erik barely tasted the Corazon food. He was too busy trying not to stare at Charles.

XXX

 

At dawn, Charles was in the stables organizing their mounts for the trip. He’d managed to sneak an apple for his own horse, Asclepius, from the breakfast sideboard. The grey gelding gobbled it before nudging Charles’ knee. Janos was fetching a packed lunch from the kitchens. Charles could ride in the specially bracing saddle Hank had made for him, but only at a walk, so they would need to set off posthaste. 

Erik strode out of the entryway as if striding off for war, but scrunched his nose up like a child when he saw Charles.

“I thought you could ride Leandra, Erik,” Charles suggested, handing him the reins of a large chestnut mare. Erik had taken the train over and left his spoiled bay stallion at the keep in Krauja.

“Thank you,” said Erik, accepting the reins. “Remember that pony you had, the tiny black one?”

“Nyx,” smiled Charles. “You named her. And I don’t think you or I have had a horse since then that wasn’t named for a Greek god or mythical figure.”

Erik chuckled. His current horse was called Heph, a diminutive for the Greek God of smithing. “From when the rest of the world still had some magic,” he said. “Before we had to hide. Let’s go see the hidden witch then.” 

They set off through the streets, past the home farms, and into the forest. Charles led them to the river and Erik took the lead to follow it uphill and away from the sea.

It was just before noon when the trees became dense and low, the ground beneath the hooves of their mounts flinty and slippery with moss. Charles lay flat against his gelding’s neck at some points, his hand stroking the grey in encouragement. He was about to sacrifice his pride and ask for a rest when, Jean’s low voice threaded through his thoughts.

-Welcome, my Prince. You are close. Leave your horses in the next clearing and you will find me just around the rock face.

“Almost there Erik,” said Charles, managing not to speak his relief. 

Jean Grey had been driven to live apart from the people of Corazon. Her isolation was the reason Charles kept close-lipped about his differences. She’d taught him how to use his telepathy though, sneaking into the alcazar to accomplish it; taught him how to keep people out, how to focus on one mind amongst a crowd. She was a friend, but Charles was intelligent enough to still be afraid of her. With telepathy, telekinesis and prescience Corazon’s mage was capable of greater magic than all of Genosha’s other mages combined.

It was impossible to tell her age. She currently seemed to be younger than Erik, yet Charles had met her under the impression she was his mother’s age. 

Jean passed Charles a cup of tea without asking and Erik some tungbrau, simply raising an eyebrow when Erik began a formal greeting. He stopped mid word.

“Would you like to converse with me? Or would you like me to look?” Jean enquired. 

“You may look, of course, if it will make helping me easier for you, but it is straightforward. I believe Shaw bound my inherent metallokinetic abilities and I am hoping you can release them,” Erik explained.

“May I take your hand,” Jean asked. 

Erik held out his right hand and Jean took it between both of hers and smiled. She closed her eyes and remained so still and silent for so long that Erik’s hand jerked despite all his training to be contained. And when she opened her eyes, Erik had to employ every skerrick of that training not to lean closer to her, so enveloping was her gaze.

“Your Grace,” Jean said, “it is simple. Shaw’s primary magic is his ability to steal power from other sources. He is not a genesis of magic.” She smirked, “and he has no imagination. I am positive true love is the key to unlocking this.” 

“Thank you, Phoenix, thank you,” Erik kissed Jean’s hand, which had not released his. “This means more to us than only my magical legacy. We think it might tip political power in my favour so it will be safe to marry Prince Charles without the stability of my throne being threatened.”

“Oh,” said Jean, flouncing cheekily across to the sideboard, “you think you will take my heir from my country, do you?”

“Oh no, not at all,” Erik stammered, “I mean to have him with me in Ierocis Zeme while the Queen of Hearts is still able to rule, and when Charles is needed in Corazon, we will have prepared a ward to stand for Iron.”

Jean grinned like a child; she appeared of an age with Raven when she did. “You have thought that through well then,” she said and brought them crusty bread with rillette and a magnificent smelling fruit tart.

They began to eat.

“And your curse, Prince Charles?” Jean asked innocently. “I imagine you will be walking soon. True love goes both ways.”

Erik did not notice in his excitement at this development that Charles had gone quite chalky and pushed his food aside.

Jean, however, farewelled the young Prince with some advice. “Remember what you are worth Charles, if you were to judge your own value with the same stick with which you measure Erik’s.” 

They got distracted on the way back by a deep pool in the river. Erik stopped to water the horses and felt his chest hurt at the longing look on Charles’ young face. 

“Go on,” he said. “Get in.”

“Thank you, Erik,” Charles said, delighted. “We can eat our tea early afterward to save stopping again.”

They called this pool The Waterfall although it wasn’t the largest waterfall in Corazon; it was the closest to Latido and a popular swim hole for the citizens. Erik had been here before, swimming with Raven while Charles sat sedately on the banks.

Charles was already a ripple in the pool by the time Erik had loosened the horses tack and hobbled them. Erik stripped down and dove in. 

He tried to swim after Charles but there was no keeping up with that powerful tail if Charles wanted to out-swim him. And when he kept diving and disappearing, Erik couldn’t hold his breath long enough to follow. So Erik floated on his back for a while, the water covering his ears and making the afternoon silent. He observed how still the clouds were in Corazon; in Ierocis the purple clouds stacked vertically and shifted continuously. The trees were almost bare of leaves by this time of year, so he was unable to stay in long and, once dry, he began to pull the food out of the packs. Charles was leaping through the waterfall spray like salmon.

Eventually, Charles flung himself on to the bank and curled up. Erik brought him his clothes and a peshtamal to dry off with, carefully averting his eyes no matter how hungry he was to look. They were both quiet at lunch. Erik assumed Charles was worn out from frollicking in the water. He finished eating before Charles did and lay on the blanket, insinuating his head into Charles’ lap. Charles stiffened and Erik grinned winningly at him. Charles rolled his eyes then, lips quirking, deliberately tapped crumbs off his bread into Erik’s hair. 

“Kiss me,” said Erik, still grinning smugly.

Charles frowned. “Erik…”

“What?” said Erik, suddenly sitting up.

“I’m not sure I actually want to break my curse. I help so many people with my telepathy and I have come to terms with my lack of mobility on land given how wonderful my time in water can be,” Charles told Erik hesitantly.

“You will be helping, you will be contributing. You are still the patron of Cogollo universidad and I will place you on the council. Eventually, you will rule an entire Kingdom. How is that not the ultimate in service to the people of Genosha?” 

“I can do all of that, curse or no curse.”

“How can you be so selfish, Charles Francis Xavier?” Erik gripped Charles’ shoulder. “This is the future of both my country and yours. How… can you even question…?”

“This is part of who I am, Erik,” argued Charles, shaking Erik’s hand off. “How can you revere magical people and want to cripple one of them whom you claim to love? Maybe I don’t know who I would be without a tail and voices in my head.”

“And me? Have you thought about that? I cannot love anyone else, will never…” Erik stopped, looked into the distance as if he could see the years of unrequited love repeated over and over into the future. “You are the only person who can do this. You are standing between me and my magical inheritance.”

“That’s not fair. We have no idea if that is true; if it is the love inside you or inside me that breaks the curse. And many people must love you Erik, if you let them, you are so wonderful. There would not be a shortage of people who could love you for the man you are.”

“Well, I will never love anyone but you and will always want you, regardless of your incredible pig-headedness.”

“And I you, Erik. But love is being as much as you can be to enhance life for the other person, not making yourself small to fit into the space they allow you.”

“Why are we even discussing this? I know you, Charles, and you will do what’s right, so why are you wasting time?”

“I will do what’s right, yes. It just may not be what you think is right.”

Erik stood. He took several steps towards the horses and then turned back. “Right. Right then,” he said, glaring at the grass, “well, if I’m not right for you then… let’s just forget it.”

He packed up with jerky tugs, snapping one of the saddle bag ties in his upset, although, while he would not meet Charles’ eyes while he lifted him onto Asclepius, his arms were gentle and graceful.

They made the rest of the journey in horrid silence. Charles’ chest hurt and he had to concentrate on holding his seat in the saddle. Erik wanted to speak several times but his throat was made of sand and grit, and twice, when he opened his mouth, bile rose into it and he was forced to seal his lips shut against it. 

When Erik’s train left the Latido station, it was the first time in Erik’s memory that Charles was not there to see him off.

 

XXX

 

They wrote each other, of course, and it eased Charles’ chest a little, but the arguments were still the same. Their feelings were still the same.

One evening, Charles was returning to the alcazar, having been down to the sea for some time underwater. He and Janos entered the first garden gate from the North path to find Armando waiting for him, perched on a short clay fence, long legs stretched out.

“Can we talk?” he asked, eyes lowered with apprehension.

“Of course,” Charles replied, mentally advising Janos to lower him into his waiting chair.

“This is not a diplomatic conversation. But it is not intended to trespass within your private affairs,” Armando reassured him.

“No,” agreed Charles. “Is there some way I can assist you?”

Armando smiled, but it was soft and without it's usual amusement. “I doubt that very much, but I could do with an ear, at the very least.”

“You have mine,” Charles assured him. “Janos, can you bring us some warm peach Valstiche, please?” Janos nodded and disappeared into the alcazar and Charles turned to Armando, “What do you need to say?”

Armando head was low, his back a curve. “I…” He stopped and rubbed a clawed palm on his breeches. “I thought I would marry Alex. It has hurt beyond reason that he is engaged elsewhere.”

“You expected to make a love match?” Charles asked.

“I was given to hope. I came to Genosha intending to cement it,” Armando confesses. “We met on his diplomatic tour. I'd never met anyone with so much vulnerability, hidden with such a hard shell. In Dutukana our magic is more organic and responsive; we don't see such aggressive magic as his red lightning. Some of my countrymen treated Alex with suspicion, with derision, which made him angry. He will be a very good ruler when he has learned that softness is not weak.

“I see how much he loves his brother, how seriously he takes his position, and then, out of nowhere, he'll smile, soft as if someone might catch him,” Armando smiled himself, self-deprecatingly. “We were hunting, in my country, and we came across a jebrier, you know of this? Jebrier, a powerful beast. We were already too close to it when we became aware of it. I started to run. Alex stood his ground and when the jebrier began to stalk him, Alex swung his red lightning around him in circles, just a threat, not an attack, until the jebrier backed down and slunk away. Alex laughed, like a little boy who had won a game, and I loved him then. I don't lie to myself.”

“How does Alex feel, do you think?” Charles wondered.

“I think he does lie to himself, if he thinks his people want him to be unhappy for the sake of an heir.”

Charles' next breath came in roughly at that. 

Armando's head tipped to the side. “Have I offended you, your highness?” he asked with concern.

“The question of succession is a continual puzzle, one that weighs on me also.” Charles shook his head, “I could not help think of my own situation when I should have been focussed on you. Are you willing to plot with me for your heart's desire, Mr. Munoz? It may be there are more people invested in the outcome of this than just you.”

Armando's eyebrows shot up. He leaned in closer to Charles, “Let us conspire then, Prince of Hearts.”

“Let's,” said Charles.

 

XXX

 

“Charles,” said Emma, stroking his face. “He’s a fusty old grumpy pants who doesn’t know how to smile unless it’s to scare small children. But you love him.” She sighed, “Stuffy old Lehnsherr. I know how people see me; and you know it’s not true. Daddy is still holding off declaring his heir, pitting Adrienne, Cordy, Christian, and I against each other, but given the chance I’d be a great Queen.”

“Yes, you would,” agreed Charles, wrapping his lap rug tighter around his legs. He was in Snawr-Hafa, the coldest country in Genosha, in winter. For some reason, his ability to retain an even temperature in the coldest of water did not extend to the periods he was on land and Charles was often seen in gloves and hats, even in Corazon and the Summer Country. Emma went to the fire and placed two more wood pieces on it, transforming her hand to diamond up to the elbow and thrusting it unflinching into the flames. 

Charles smiled at her with gratitude. Talking things through with Emma hadn’t eased all his anxiety, but he and the Princess were so acclimated to each other’s thoughts and emotions that there was some comfort in the familiarity. And Emma was smart, substantially more so than she was generally given credit for.

“And I could have been Queen if I’d pushed to marry you, or Erik, or Alex. But, I choose love, because there will be something else my gem sharp brain can accomplish.”

Charles smiled unhappily. “It comes down to two things: the curse I don’t want broken and succession.”

“So unfair,” said Emma, looking briefly just like the teenager she was. “Can’t you and Erik just live for ever? You’re a beloved and inspiring leader and Erik is a genius king. Don’t tell him I said it.”

Charles huffed a reluctant laugh, then covered his head with his arms.

“Charles, you love him and he wants this so much. You will help people with or without telepathy. You will be the same generous, open, tender-hearted, excessively intelligent and well meaning person you have always been. You will still be a cut above everyone else, except me of course.”

“Thank you for the diamond reference, now I know you’re sincere,” said Charles.

“Just don’t try to breath underwater after the curse is over.”

Charles sighed, rubbed at red eyes.

“Come with me Charlie, let’s splash your face with water. You’re about to have your first kiss and you look like all of Summer’s combined pollen attacked you.”

It did increase his confidence, ease some tension from his shoulders, to have water splashing crisply on his tear-swollen face. Once he’d let some of that grief drip forgotten into the basin and dried his face and hairline with a white peshtamal, his reflection in the thin floor-to-ceiling mirrors was… hopeful.

Emma walked him to the train, Janos and Ruiz in tow. “Goodbye. I want to hear what happens,” she tapped her head, “oh, not literally.” She hugged him. “I want the very best for you, you know.” 

“Yes,” he said.

“But since you can’t have me, his royal grumpiness had will have to do.”

Charles started giggling. Emma waved and walked away.

The train took him east, fast, but not quick enough to outrun Charles’ concerns. What if they took this chance and their kingdoms fell over despite their best plans? What if someone lost a life! If the question of succession lead to violence. Surely, Erik and he could prevent that. He caught himself chewing his nails and sat on his hands as if he was ten. 

The rockfaces in Snawr-Hafa were covered in snow but, as the train chugged into Ierocis, the snow became more patchy and grey and the condensation in the corner of Charles’ window grew thin and vanished altogether.

The train pulled into Krauja station, hissing and screeching against the halt. Charles absent-mindedly patted the sill. As Janos helped Charles off the train and into his chair, Ruiz went to procure them a hire carriage. Janos knelt before Charles, silent but his shadowed brown eyes were a reassuring pat, and Charles was grateful.

The hansom cab ride took ten minutes through Krauja’s busy and winding streets. Charles saw thriving functionality. People weren’t dancing and singing in the streets, but they were striding around with purpose, their movements smooth with a flicker of flair here and there. Erik’s populace was content.

The citadel gates were open but guarded, flung out to encompass the city that had built up over the centuries of peace. The cab slowed and Charles was announced to the guard by Ruiz, riding on the perch. There was muttering and the sound of swift footsteps sprinting towards the castle, then the carriage was waved through.

“Your Highness, we weren’t expecting you,” said the entry guard, opening the carriage door. There was a subtle hand gesture and another guard marched rapidly into the Castle.

“Oh,” said Charles, weariness falling off him, inherent concern shining through. “I apologise. So inconvenient of me. I don’t know where my mind or my manners are.” He smiled, wry and inclusive, “Be a good chap and don’t tell my mother I was so gauche will you?”

“Certainly not, Prince Charles,” said the guard, smiling back. “I know how mothers are.”

“We’re lucky really, aren’t we?... Sorry what is your name?” Charles asked the guard as Janos set up his chair. Oh, so odd that he might not need that in a minute. 

“It’s Ansell, sir.”

“Ansell, we’re lucky really to have something to complain of. I understand King Erik has a wonderful program set up for motherless children?”

Janos transferred Charles to the chair and took the handles. Charles refrained from indicating they proceed to the Castle until Ansell had received some signal that the inside staff were ready to receive him, although if he could have run to Erik he would have.

Ansell was answering his question, “Yes, your Highness, for children who have lost either parent or both. They spend time with other adults. They learn trades and simple things such as gardening and sewing. They play games and have a chance to ask questions or be listened to. Shall we?” Ansell flourished his hand toward the door. “And then the King sneaks a hearty meal into all of them, adult and child alike, before they return to their own homes or the orphanages.”

“Very admirable. I shall have to pick his brains. We have fantastic care for orphans in Corazon, but nothing for the gap left by the loss of one parent.”

The steward greeted Charles at the door, and Charles made sure to thank Ansell as he passed into the inside staff’s care. 

Ergils bowed and lead Charles to a cozy sitting room, although ‘cozy’ in the Iron citadel was still cavernous and dripping with ancient stories. 

“King Erik is at one of the factories but we have sent a messenger. Would you like a meal, some tangbrau, a brandy, one of cook’s famous herring puffs while you wait, your highness? I think the King has insisted we keep tea on hand somewhere.”

“How accommodating of him,” Charles said, biting his lip. Charles’ grandmother had brought tea to Corazon with her at her marriage into the nation. The rest of Corazon, let alone the peninsula, still found the habit of the Heart royal family odd. “Tea, if you would, and, if cook would, some puffs please.”

“Certainly, your highness. Mr Quested, if you would follow me for your own refreshment?”

Charles curled a tendril of mental encouragement around Janos’ worry so he left with Ergils. Charles tried very hard not to think about how he would communicate with Janos once the telepathy was gone. He distracted himself by setting up the chess set and pulling a book from the shelves, Myths of the Northern Tip, which was written by someone gothic and was all tragedies and ghost tales. Charles liked the Northern Tip. The mountains of Snawr gave way to flattened-out, remote spaces, rocky formations cradling vast fields with very green but very short grass. Everything was sparse and hard and intense. Best of all was reclining on the coarse sand which stretched out for miles all unending horizon over the sea and rocks and stubborn trees, framing the distant view, and seeing the point where the broad, teal Palido Ocean waves pulsed into the choppy water of the grey Atriebigs Sea; the point where his dominion met Erik’s. 

When he was younger, all he could see was the differences, the colours and the currents slamming into each other then surging in opposite directions. Now he saw the breakdown of it, the flowing into each other, the sharing of particles; some teal sharpened to grey, some grey eased to teal, the core remaining unchanged, keeping its own rhythm and display.

Ergils returned with refreshments. Cook’s herring puffs were delicious, sharp and creamy all at once, crunching and melting simultaneously. The tea was over brewed and over milked and Charles would have to teach them how tea was done when he was here all the time.

He looked around the room again, so contrary to home. The keeps windows were all long, vertical strips to minimize the impact of the harsh west setting sun and to cope with the heaviness of stone. At the alcazar, the windows were all very wide or very high and curved and open, as many were doors leading to courtyards or gardens. In the keep, the light always seemed to be coming from the wrong angle.

Charles panicked on an intake of breath but managed to wrest it under control on the exhale, reminding himself he would be frequently in Corazon to run Cogollo University and visit Mother. 

Then Erik strode into the room and Charles remembered exactly why he was here, and exactly what was important.

“Charles, are you okay? What are you doing?” Erik’s hand jerked towards Charles briefly before he caught himself.

Charles took a sharp breath, smiled self deprecatingly, showed Erik the cover of Myths of the Northern Tip. “I’m... choosing spots for our honeymoon,” he got out and then the smile tumbled from his face while he waited, cold, for the response.

But Erik’s perpetual intensity was morphing from worry to elation. Charles remembered beatitude on those dear features from his childhood, from before Erik was orphaned, from before it was obvious he couldn’t control metal, and now here it was again, lifting his cheeks, stretching his mouth wide. It was worth everything to see it.

Erik rushed at Charles and almost skidded onto his knees beside the chair. “Please, let that be… not a jest,” he said, gripping Charles by the shoulder.

Charles twisted his hands in Erik’s waistcoat and pulled him close. “I love you. I want you to have whatever makes you complete,” he whispered, and pressed their lips together.

He immediately forgot there was a purpose for the kiss, relief and rightness giving way to keen and rapidly accelerating heat. Erik’s hands came up, thumbs on his jaw, fingers in his hair. He moved his lips and tilted his head and Charles merely tried to respond in kind. He seemed to have lost his ability to process thought, mindlessly chasing more, more, more.

The quickening Charles had whenever he was near Erik was not a flutter anymore, not the wisps of air displaced by butterfly wings, it was a dragon beating gales, scorching to the bone, thumping fiercely in his head. He’d assumed kissing Erik would satiate him but he had to get closer. His arms crept around Erik’s neck and he connected every part of their bodies he could. When he opened his mouth and tapped his tongue on Erik’s, it felt as if every flicker of awareness from the rest of his body billowed through him and coalesced in the connection and when it rolled back in it wasn’t just him anymore.

“Charles,” said Erik disoriented, “you’re standing.”

Charles looked down to confirm, quite from reflex. The fact of his being self-supported on his feet was rather obvious. Further, he felt really small and alone without the cotton wool bunting of other people’s presence in his head. He kissed Erik again. Connected. Stepped back. Alone.

At least he had Erik.

“I don’t feel any different,” said Erik.

“Try to move something,” suggested Charles. “This,” he pointed to his iron napkin ring.

Erik clenched his fists and strained. He tried reaching a hand out. Nothing happened, the thin ring remained lifeless on the side table. “It didn’t work,” he said, voice tremulous.

“It did,” insisted Charles, waving a desperate hand at his legs. “I can’t hear you,” he pointed to his head. “I can’t hear anyone.”

Erik thrust his hand out aggressively, his face stained red but the napkin ring didn’t move.

“Practise?” begged Charles, curling his hand in Erik’s.

“No,” growled Erik, tugging his hand away. “My cousins have told me they are always aware of the metal surrounding them. Maris can feel it from the greatest distance, but they can all do it to varying degrees. And they were aware of metal when they were little, even before they learnt to make it obey their whims. I only know that napkin ring is there because I can see it.”

Charles’ nose was filling with unshed tears.

“This is not it,” roared Erik. He punched the high-backed armchair, eyes glinting. “Why didn’t it work?”

“It should have worked. True love’s kiss. And I love you, wholeheartedly. It should have worked.”

Erik whirled to Charles. “I love you. That’s not why. Do you believe me? That’s not why it didn’t work.”

“Yes. Yes, Erik. God, Yes. I’ve known forever. I can’t remember not knowing. When you look at me, I matter. Yes, I know.” 

Erik hid his face in his arm and seemed to burn with injustice. “Why didn’t it work? Or why did it work on you but not me?”

“I don’t... don’t know. And now it’s awful that we don’t know what we’re going to do about the succession.” Charles reached for Erik’s hand again and, this time, Erik let him hold it. “But we are together. We… we are together? Aren’t we?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, because we didn’t unlock your magnetism and we can’t provide a blood heir, do you… you can’t want me, now…”

But he couldn’t finish speaking as Erik had yanked him in close and was firmly kissing him. 

“It’s a concern,” Erik said, with his nose still resting on Charles’ cheek. “Of course, it’s always a concern, what is good for my country. But…” He broke off and kissed Charles once more, shook his head in defeat. “I don’t know how you think I could kiss you once and that anything could have value above kissing you after experiencing it.”

“Oh,” said Charles. He scrunched Erik’s tunic in his fist. He couldn’t think of anything better to say.

Erik’s thumb was tugging softly on his earlobe, when he told Charles, “I’m sorry if I made you think it was about the curse or the Kingdom for me. It’s always been about you.”

Charles smiled, but it was a washed out, thin version. “Now we are together, we’ll find a solution,” he declared.

“Gods,” Erik swore. He ran his thumbs along Charles’ jaw, the pads of his fingers finding the sides of Charles’ throat. “We’re together. I won’t pretend not to be upset but, I acknowledge, I have already had a miracle today.” 

There was a note of reverence in his voice that had Charles laughing. “You sound as if you managed to win me over a whole mob of suitors who were lined up to be with me,” Charles said. “No one has ever wanted me; there may have been a couple of supplicants interested in the crown, a couple of political pawns.”

“Well I,” said Erik, cupping the back of Charles’ neck, “do,” he kissed Charles under the jaw, “want,” one finger trailed a bruising line along Charles’ collarbone, “you.” He kissed Charles then, and it started sweet and reverent but rapidly plummeted into Erik wildly licking into Charles’ mouth.

Charles squeaked and stepped back. He was very hot, could feel how angrily red his face had become. “Um, Erik, I… have never. I don’t know…”

Erik stepped back also. “Whenever you are ready,” he promised. 

“No,” said Charles, hauling him back by the tunic. “I’m ready. Just… don’t want my inexperience to make it horrid.”

“My Prince, it is fortunate for you then,” said Erik, leading Charles through the foyer and up the stairs, “that your husband-to-be has a wealth of experience.”

“Really?” Charles queried, flushing and raising his eyebrow.

“Absolutely. Two times, a decade ago,” Erik replied, blushing in return. “Wealth of experience.”

Charles laughed. They had reached the top of the stairs. “Show me?” Charles suggested, his voice dropped low and breathy.

Erik hesitated. “This is beyond my reckoning. I’m having trouble believing.”

Charles regarded him, his sharp chin tilting defensively. “What do I do?” he asked, with a scary lack of his usual comfortable amusement.

Erik stepped forward. “You kiss me,” he instructed.

Charles perked up. “I can do that,” he whispered, before aligning his nose against Erik’s and pressing their mouths together. He took a shuddering breath in and adjusted his angle. The kiss got wetter. The buzz in Charles’ head got fainter, but so did the rest of the world, so that it shocked him when Erik pulled away and Charles was being carried into Erik’s room. Erik put him down and they both stared at Charles’ legs. Erik was frowning and Charles never liked seeing him frown. He launched himself at Erik, in an ungainly, un-princely manner and kissed him with all of his virgin enthusiasm. “I really like this,” said Charles.

Erik laughed, high pitched and child-like. “Good,” he said, decisively. “I require this many times a day from the love of my life.”

Charles grinned. “What now?”

“Now,” said the King, swinging his bedroom door closed behind them, “we take our clothes off.


	4. Spades

Emma was in the mining town, heavily guarded, wrapped in furs. Life was rough here, compared to the capital, and Emma made a charity trip once in the moon cycle. Christian was with her today, scarily sober, grey skin under his eyes. 

A familiar frustration ran through Emma, but it wasn’t hers. She looked to Christian but, although he was pained and anxious, the frustration had not initiated with him. Emma refined her focus on the emotion and almost giggled when she realised what she was picking up. 

Someone was arguing with Adrienne. Emma couldn’t read Adrienne but she could read the whirlwind of anger infused with longing from someone facing off with her. No wonder the feeling was familiar, Emma’s relationship with her older sister had been strained since they were tiny and fractured irrevocably the day Adrienne outed Christian. Despite her fury at Adrienne’s heartlessness, she had never quite buried all her hope that they could reconcile, especially when she saw Alex and Scott together.

“Darling,” she said casually to her brother, “will you take the supplies to the school house? I have a small matter to look into.”

He raised his eyebrow at her but nodded, leading the cart to the South of the town’s main street. Emma watched him for a few seconds and then turned East on her Summerland leather boot heel, followed faithfully by two of the palace guards. The mental output was coming from a small but sturdy house. Emma mimed ‘silence’ and ‘stay put’ to the guards and crept closer. 

There was a deep and smooth male voice, attempting to cajole Adrienne to give up the throne and run away with him. Emma was again grateful her telepathy and Adrienne’s psychometry cancelled each other out, as she couldn’t keep her shock off her face, let alone walled up in her head.

“I love you, woman,” the man said, “and you love me. Can you really decide to live without me?”

“I’ll have to,” Adrienne replied. Emma could picture her gritting her teeth and lifting her chin.

“Imagine it. I can provide. We can be everything to each other. Hold the image in your head and come with me to create it,” Adrienne’s lover begged.

‘Good luck with that lover boy,’ thought Emma. ‘Adrienne has always put power and accomplishment over love.’ 

“I can’t,” Adrienne muttered, “When Daddy found out about Christian having a male lover, he cast him out rather than accept it, and when Christian moved with Hans to Summer rather than give into Daddy’s demands, Daddy had Hans framed for assault and deported from Genosha. We wouldn’t be safe.”

Then Emma was caught within the conflict between the power-hungry part of her heart and the part that still held compassion. The thought of Christian weeping into Emma’s pillows was an effective knife to the throat of Emma’s compassion, and exposing Adrienne would feel so very sweet. But the pleading note in Adrienne’s voice when she said, ‘we wouldn’t be safe’ kept trilling in Emma’s mind. Her Princess face was pulled carefully into place while she distributed supplies, and even then Christian rounded on her the instant they were in the carriage to journey home.

“What are you up to, little sister?” He was smirking, thinking it was a prank or surprise, but his dear face paled and his hands began to shake as the overheard conversation spilled out of Emma. “The punishment matches the crime,” was all he said, before turning to face the rolling scenery.

 

XXX

 

The young Genoshian royals met at the Teppeth Inn, the largest of the public houses at the crossroads town, padding into a private lounge with their hoods up. Emma and Christian were already there when Alex begrudgingly followed his younger brother through the heavy wood door. Christian had already ordered and served himself fruit wine. Emma had tinkered with the Inn staff’s heads and they were very proud to be serving a group whom they perceived as famous actors. Alex accepted a glass so he had something to do with his hands; though he could not still his foot from tapping against his chair leg. The Ierocis King walked in next and Alex was pouring him some wine when the door opened again and Charles walked in with Munoz. 

On some level, Alex could appreciate the miracle of Charles on his feet, could hear Emma lose her hard won mask and shriek like a child; most of him, though, was trying to deny how fast his heart was going, how welcome Armando’s eyes on him were. He had risen and was standing in front of Armando before he knew what he was about. Before he could complete the jerky movement his hand was making towards Armando’s, Scott was ushering them all into seats around a dining table. 

“To save time,” declared Emma, “I will give you as much knowledge as Charles and I have gathered head to head.”

And Alex saw Adrienne and a rough dressed man with twin, despairing frowns, saw Scott and Emma holding hands and grinning, saw Charles and Erik transformed and bound at the lake edge and saw Armando determined, and twisting, in those long, distracting fingers, the scarf Alex had given him. They not only saw these scenes but understood layers of them, felt all the intention and avidity behind the actions, saw them connect and branch out, each affecting the others, a spider web and each of them struggling flies upon it. 

“We can solve this,” said Erik, ever the strategist, and Charles sent him a burning, affectionate smile.

“You still want me?” Alex asked, not daring to look up from the tabletop, but what had he to hide after that thorough expozé? Everyone here would know to whom he directed his incredulous question.

“Of course,” Armando assured him. “Alex, there is no one like you. I will not give you up at the first difficulty.” And, Alex would never not melt when swathed in that voice. He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes and pretended he wasn’t crying, and everyone at the table pretended right along with him.

Christian ordered food and Erik began to devise their next steps. Emma swapped places with Armando ostensibly so she could speak to Charles, and Armando slipped into the chair next to Alex and waited for Alex to pull himself together.

“I’ve the impression Adrienne would leave with this man if she thought she could be safe,” Erik observed. 

Emma nodded. “Daddy will destroy her if she tries to live in anywhere he can reach, which is all Genosha and every country we trade or treaty with.”

“What if I found them diplomatic positions in Dutukana?” Armando suggested. “No one can touch a diplomat without seriously harming their own trustworthiness.”

“That could work,” said Emma, sitting up very straight. 

“Adrienne might thaw in Dutukana,” muttered Alex. His eyes popped open as he gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry. That was… terribly inappropriate. I’ll suggest the option of diplomacy as a solution to her when I break off the engagement.”

“I thought as the only current Genosha council member here, it would fall to me,” Erik interjected.

“It’s my responsibility. I agreed to marry her,” Alex insisted, retreating back beheld his usual restrained facade. 

“She’s my sister,” Emma said softly.

The door flung open. Shaw strode in arrogantly, framed in crackling red magic. “How did you escape last time?” he demanded of Erik. “Your powers are still bound; I can feel my magic intact. I’ve given myself to Ierocis Zeme for decades as your advisor, and your father and grandfather’s before you, and I’ve more power than all of your tepid family put together. And what have you done with your monarchy? Peace on the peninsula? Failure to use your powers to invade? Industry and social measures and sharing wealth amongst the useless unpowered?” At this Shaw’s eyes bulged and he threw a fist towards the ceiling. There was a loud clap and a some dust drifted downwards from a new crack in the plaster.

Charles stood and rushed forward defensively.

“Our precious Prince of Hearts is walking?” Shaw sneered. “Too late to enjoy his mobility, I’m taking him from you little Erik.” 

And then everything happened jumbled and overlapping and interlocking.

Erik entreated, “No, don’t Shaw. Have the Kingdom, leave my Charles,” while catching Charles around the waist. Charles said, “Yes, fine. I’ll go if it’ll keep Ierocis safe.” Then shrugged Erik off and admonished, “You can’t Erik.” Shaw conjured his visible, red magic and flung it toward Charles like a whip. Alex knocked back his chair, bands of lightning flaring around his chest in pace with his temper. Erik cried out, “No!” but the warning was too late. Alex sent a blast at the traitor mage.

Shaw’s face was malicious and triumphant as he absorbed the energy and sent it back. Alex instantaneously dismissed several options; deflect, leap, freeze, fire back. But he was knocked to the floor and trapped under something. ‘Armando,’ Alex recognised quickly, ‘I’m under Armando.’ Shaw was laughing and it made Alex bristle. He began to push at Armando to move him. 

Alex froze, horrified and trapped, as Shaw gathered another ball of magical energy and shot it towards the targets of his rage.

But before it could lash Charles, the table tipped and shielded him, its contents smashing on the floor and the wood top shrieking against its iron braces as it scorched under the impact of the magic. The room began to crumble, as nails wrenched themselves out of their positions in mantles and chairs and floor boards, and flew at Shaw’s astonished face. He went down under the hail of them and Alex struggled again, only hearing a moan and smelling blood. He could see Erik though, fury lighting him until it hurt to look but Alex was hopelessly compelled to. A dagger rose untouched from Erik’s boot and arched toward the place Shaw fell in two separate, impossible movements, impossible except that many of the Ierocis cousins could make metal obey them in such a way. There was a sickening thunk and Erik’s shoulders slumped.

“Erik,” pleaded Charles. Erik turned and wrapped around him tight as a cocoon.

“Armando?” Alex shook the shoulder of Armando’s stiff coat. The warm feeling in Alex’s chest chilled instantly as Armando grunted. “By the thunder, ‘Mando, what’s wrong.” Alex scrambled out from under Armando’s tall body, panicking, air sludging into his lungs like mud.

Armando landed hard on his back as Alex’s hands jerked away from the heat roaring off him. Armando’s skin was turning to black ash, ravines skittering across it to reveal glowing red magic. His eyes were wide and reflecting desperation and a clear goodbye. 

“Armando! Fight it!” Alex screamed. “Adapt, damnit, come back.”

Scott clutched Alex by the shoulders in support and to prevent him from burning himself on Armando’s skin. Emma switched into her diamond form and held Armando’s hand. He calmed, gripping her hand back. His eyes were still focussed on Alex but they began to lose the edge of panic, although it was clear he was still in pain.

“That’s it, ‘Mando, please.”

And he did seem to be winning the fight against the refracted magic. He was struggling and gasping but cooling slowly and the red cracks were sealing over.

When Armando was no longer blazing to the touch, Alex attempted to embrace him without jostling. The others backed away and pretended not to notice their usually obdurate companion clinging to someone who was not his fiancée, with naked love and relief on their countenances. 

Charles was whispering to Erik, “You must have broken the curse Erik. How did we interpret that wrongly?”

“Your grace,” said Scott, his arm sheltering Emma's shoulders, “could you not have just used the dagger first? Did you have to destroy the parlour?”

The King of Ierocis Zeme blushed. “I panicked,” he said.

 

XXX

 

With Armando’s health and Shaw’s corpse to take care of, the discussion over who should talk to Adrienne was nearly forgotten. Christian knocked on his sister’s bedroom door, sober and calm, the next day. 

She looked at him suspiciously and nodded to a settee. He sank down onto it and watched her curiously while she took her own seat.

“What can I do for you, Christian?” she asked, her social mask firmly fitted.

“May I be completely honest?” he asked, leaning toward her. He saw her clutch her skirt just slightly and then release it deliberately.

“Of course.”

“Sister, I need you to listen until I am ready for you to respond, and you will want to interject. Please do not.”

She nodded.

“I know about the mine foreman, and my question, when it is time for you to answer it, will be: what do you want? But first I want you to hear all of your options.”

He began to explain Alex and Armando, the possibility of a safe home in Dutukana, and, after carefully noting her reactions, explained about Emma wanting to marry Scott and her eagerness to take responsibility in Snawr.

“I have no interest in anything now, past inventing new mixes for Valstiche and creating new adventures in my bed. But these others, Adi, they are smart and committed and invested in this peninsula, and in each other. If King Erik, Prince Charles, Alex, and Emma all put their combined efforts into Genosha, you do not have to be concerned with its future. You will not be abandoning your duties.

“Adi, what do you want?”

“I want to stop being forced to suck up to Daddy when there is no guarantee who he will choose to succeed him. I want to be with Steven. I want to be important. I want you to have your boyfriend back.” She had a runnel of tears down each cheek as she finished speaking and a blazing gleam in her eyes.

Christian laughed and the laughter contained no humour and much derision. He stood, and patted her on the knee. “If that is what you really want, sister, we can manage three of those wishes.”

He left her to her regrets and her hopes.

 

XXX

 

Evangeline Whedon, in human form, had long black hair and a straight nose. Her mien was haughty but with an underlying amusement. Charles thought Erik looked like that sometimes. He took a knee. Erik didn’t, but he did bow, curt and shallow. She was clearly delighted by the display of respect; although her facial muscles didn’t actually seem to alter, something lit up in her and she inclined her head.

Charles spoke in Old Genoshian. He had no telepathy, no hints to her inclinations from her fixed mask, had no way of knowing how welcome their visit to her mountaintop lair would be. He was faithfully reproducing the etiquette formula which had been drummed into him as a child, when the dragon interrupted.

“What has happened to your powers, young Prince?”

Charles explained.

Vange tilted her head. “Your powers,” she said with barely concealed fury, “were not a curse. It was a gift I’ve been sprinkling in the noble families for generations. It only takes rarely. Nothing in your family for years, your Grace, as all the Lehnsherr Clan are so full of that matching hereditary magnetism. Two of my Snow Princesses have manifested in this generation, but not their brother. But you, princeling, with you it took. You are the only male royal to take to the dragonline.”

“I don’t understand,” Erik said, “Charles is dragon?”

“No. He has dragon magic.”

“Why would you share your magic?” Charles asked with an assessing tilt to his head.

“Let us drink,” said Vange, “and sit. There is much of this story to be told on both sides.”

She led them to a lovely sitting room. There were seat carved from stone and outcrops of smoothed rock here and there to rest things on and small alcoves in the walls supporting lamps or displaying treasure. When she served them, Charles took a seat but Erik stood, restless.

“This is fantastic,” said Charles of his drink.

Vange winked at him, “Fire Valstiche, spice seed liquor and the juice of oranges from abroad.” She sat on her window seat, back lit by the waning sun. “What happened?” she asked.

Charles leaned forward, detailed their whole story, the curses and their hesitation to be together because of the succession issues, how the curses broke and Erik’s determination to repair things.

Vange smiled, so gently she appeared completely human, no dragon shadow in the angles of her face. “I love a good love story,” she said. “I’m creating my own. I want a family. You are the first male to completely take to the magic I gave each noble pregnancy, which means, and clamp yourself down now warrior King, Prince Charles is perfect for me to mate with.” She threw up a hand. “Now now, I have no desire to break you up, but this could work out for everyone. King Erik wanted his power back, that has occurred. Prince Charles wants his powers back. You both wish to be together and yet have stable, happy kingdoms in the form of powerful offspring from your bloodlines. I want to be impregnated by Charles.”

Charles was horribly red and Erik ceased pacing to clutch at his shoulder.

“I need Charles to have his power intact when we reproduce so that the baby is more likely to be dragon, that is why I have shared my magic so that our magics will be compatible. I will grant those powers back should you agree. In addition, I will give you some vital information to secure Corazon’s family line, and I suggest,” she paused to assess how she was being received, “the way to secure the Ierocis line, is for Erik to mate with me too.”

By now Charles was very white and Erik’s teeth could be heard grinding.

“Think your Grace, your Highness, I’ll lay multiple eggs and, once hatched, I will keep any of the dragon line and you will have an instant and strong family of your own bloodlines in the remaining children.”

“A few points,” said Charles, only slightly shakily. “Corazon is a long way from accepting changeling bastards in their leadership, especially with the current conservative triumvirate in charge. Will your non-dragon children age at our rate or yours? And, can you fertilise from two different sources in one pregnancy?”

“So smart,” mused Vange proudly. “This upcoming generation of leadership in Genosha will be outstanding. It’s an intriguing combination you make. There’s your progression in industry, your Grace, and your brains organising higher education, your Highness. I adore that fabulous Princess Emma, if I were you, I’d place her in charge of the younger children. And, I know you don’t want to hear this Prince Charles but, Lady Darkholme could be our greatest military leader in generations. Yes, this is the perfect time for me to have my children.

“I won’t be pregnant, I will be gravid. Each clutch of eggs will have one father but we can mate all at once and I can store sperm inside me and fertilise a new clutch without you for a number of years to come. Dragon line babies will age like me. Non-dragons will age slightly slower than you and they will also be stronger, healthier and very likely to have some special magic. They will be obviously yours, I am an almost exact visual copy of my late human parent. Any offspring we produce would not be the answer for Corazon, I agree, but… I know where to find your sister.”

“I don’t have a sister,” protested Charles.

“You have a twin. Doesn’t he King Erik?”

“No, he had a twin. She… Cassandra didn’t survive,” Erik spat.

“I can assure you she is alive. Do you need time to think this over? I can host you in my guest rooms overnight. I can have a meal cooked for you shortly. You would be most welcome to spend the night and discuss it between yourselves.”

“I would very much appreciate a meal, Dragon Protector,” Charles said. Vange made them new drinks. Charles said, “Thank you.” His politeness was bone-deep as marrow. 

“Will you allow Charles and I some time to talk privately?” Erik asked Vange.

“Yes, your Grace, gladly. I will prepare a room, in case you stay, and some refreshment.” She swept from the room, garments floating out like smoke tendrils behind her.

“Charles,” said Erik, around gritted teeth. “I want you to do it and get your powers back.”

“No. I don’t care for them enough for that. What if I can’t? Or what if I can? We couldn’t avoid the impact that would have on us. We’ve only just found our way to each other, what if..? I can’t… can’t risk it.” 

“You hesitated.”

“Not about the powers, I chose you over them already, but… could I really have a sister?”

“I don’t know. How could you? An entire country and my personal memory says one thing and the Dragon Protector says another.”

“What was she like?”

Erik picked up Charles’ hand. “She was a tiny baby. I thought you were tiny but she was even more so. And pale,” he waved a hand at Charles’ raised eyebrow, “yes, even more pale than you. She hardly had any hair, but the fuzzy bits that were growing were more red than yours, and her eyes were… more cloudy? Not as clear, anyway. You’ve always looked at me and into me. But, she really looked like you, almost exact. Sorry, that’s all I remember, she was never… precious to me as you are.”

Vange fetched them for a meal, the delicious food unappreciated due to the tension at the table, and afterwards she showed them to a bed chamber. It was, as all the lair was, carved from the mountain. The bed was a smooth stone platform but with so many mattresses, furs and quilts it might as well have been made from piles of duckling down.

They talked for hours, looping back to the same arguments, until Charles said, “I need to think. You should rest.” He sat on the bed with his hand on the back of Erik’s neck until the King was asleep.

He walked silently through the lair, out of politeness rather than out of any possibility Vange wouldn’t know exactly where he was in her own sanctuary. He found a sitting room with a fireplace and sat at the window looking out into the shadows cast by the luminous moon.

In the end, the solution came subtly in the calm, cool of dawn, certainty rising in Charles like the gentle pink of sunrise. Erik’s curse had been broken by true love, not the declaration of it but by an action that proved it. If Charles’ powers weren’t a curse, then the only one who could have taken them away was himself. He had snuffed his magic out in a moment of determination, by sheer force of belief. 

Or, was it possible to extinguish magic? Shaw had only been capable of containing Erik’s powers, not end them altogether. Perhaps Charles had buried his magic, and nothing more. He reached out for the familiar comfort of Erik’s mind, could read him dreaming in breathtakingly fast images, and remained in Erik’s thought space, breathing in and out with him for a while. 

When he finally brought his attention back to the stone sitting room, his legs would no longer obey his mental commands.

Vange entered the room and smiled. -Welcome back to magic, my Prince. I would be honoured to train you, to develop your powers more fully. I’m sure Jean Grey will be happy to do so also.

-Thank you. I will train with you Dragon Protector. I do not need to hide my gifts anymore.

“I’m glad,” she said. “And have you thought about my other proposition?”

“I don’t want to lie with anyone who isn’t Erik. But I do wish you could have what you want and I do want to find my sister.”

Vange laughed. It was a gruff bark which reminded Charles of the hunting hounds when they’d caught a scent. 

“Princeling,” she said, fondly, “You don’t need to have intercourse with me. Conception is a miracle and a miracle is a powerful mix of science and magic and faith. I can create miracles in the abstract or in the physical world. This one is a big one, and I will need to borrow magic from Jean Grey, but it can be done without sexual contact. It’s not as much fun that way though.” She laughed again as Charles shivered. He considered all the information, analysing both the logistics and the slightly off kilter way it made him feel. It seemed to be a very practical solution but there were very possessive emotions being stirred up in Charles as he thought it through. 

“I will still think of the dragon babies as mine,” admitted Charles, swallowing, “even though I… agree to let you raise them. Of course, you are best for that job, I know nothing of being a dragon.”

“You can visit with your hatchlings, gentle prince. You may need to teach and influence them anyway. Even if they are not in line for a throne, they may still, as adults, wish to reside in your courts instead of estranged with me on my mountain.” Vange’s face blazed in the last, burning orange, light of the sunrise. She smiled at Charles, and he had never seen her look so young. “Besides, your Highness,” she admitted, “I enjoy your company. I hear both yourself and his Grace play chess?”

Charles laughed, light enough in his heart to float, though stranded on the stone bench with his unresponsive legs. “Something tells me you would be a tricky sort of opponent. I am very much looking forward to further visits now.”

“Would you allow me to carry you inside, Charles?”

He smiled at the Dragon Protector. “Yes,” he agreed, “I would be pleased to accept aid from a friend.”

She carried him in arms that should have snapped under his weight, setting him at a table. It was laid with boiled eggs, fried fish, crusty bread and a tangy green relish. Charles began to eat while she poured out the tea.

“Would you like to wake his Grace?” she queried.

“Of course, Dragon Protector,” said Charles. He spoke gently into Erik’s head, -Erik love, I have them back. Come to breakfast when you can.

Charles couldn’t help but laugh in surprise when Erik appeared shortly afterwards, his waistcoat buttoned up wrong and his sleeves hanging open at his wrists. He bent over Charles and pressed an urgent kiss in his hair.

“I’m so proud of you,” Erik whispered.

Charles laughed. “I don’t think I deserve quite the praise you’re offering. There are some things you don’t know; the resolution was much more easily achieved than we thought.”

“Will you eat while we talk, your Grace?” Vange suggested.

After they’d illuminated Erik on the magical option of conception, Erik said, firmly, “Well, I’m still proud of you, Charles.” He turned to Vange. “You were going to tell us about Charles’ sister?” 

“You were both very young,” Vange explained. “When Kurt Marko was Prime Minister, and not Queen consort, he made a grave mess of dealings with Lady Darkholme’s country. He avoided war only by giving Cassandra as ward and eventually receiving Raven to complete the balance of trust.”

“They never speak of her. The Queen wore black for a year. I was eight. I remember,” Erik insisted.

“She is in Calloropthy. I am always slightly aware of those of you who manifest with my gift.”

“She is telepathic?” asked Charles. 

“Yes, and she took some dragon magic. Not your water dragon form, her natural state is camouflage.”

“Oh,” said Charles, brightening as he did with new scientific discoveries, “so that’s why I have phantom pain when I’m not in water, because the tail is my natural state.”

“Yes, I am hurting in this form as we chat,” said the dragon dismissively. “Can I convince you to stay with me another night?”

They stayed for two more, Charles primarily studying the tommes of dragon genealogy and the biology of dragon reproduction, and Erik being thoroughly challenged by Vange over the chessboard.

 

XXX

 

Charles confronted his Mother and her consort and Erik confronted the Genosha council. Calloropthy was contacted and gemstones, artefacts and written apologies were proffered to bargain for Cassandra. The most surprising deal was struck.

And that Spring, when the wexcor wood trees were budding and gardens were at their most fragrant, Adrienne said goodbye to her parents and her siblings and departed, with her brand-new groom, for Calloropthy and a waiting court position.

Later in that same week, Erik brought Charles his sister. He opened the door to the carriage, after it had clattered to a stop in the Corazon stable yard, and handed a tiny, pale young woman down from the footplate.

Cassandra’s eyes were the purple-grey of a pregnant storm cloud and, when Charles gripped her hand, they spilled over. 

 

XXX

 

The Crown Prince of Summer had the honour of standing on the wedding tapestry and under an egg-yolk yellow canopy in front of his family and his countrymen. He was on the highest tier of the staggered courtyard, swallowing compulsively and watching the progression mounting the steps towards him. Armando was marching towards him, surrounded by a congregation of very old and very young visiting Dutukanians and natives of Summer alike, all draped in immaculate white. Armando was dressed in deep red and had a rope of flowers on his shoulders like a spiky livery collar. He was escorted by his tall cousins, four preceding and four following behind the white-clad group, before they expelled Armando from their centre. A sudden grin glinted on Armando’s face.

Alex wanted to grin back but all his focus was on not embarrassing himself by fainting.

Ororo lead them in the wedding ceremony, wrapping their clasped hands in vines, requesting they declare their commitment in the hearing of all present and winking as she encouraged them to kiss. 

Armando kissed Alex, holding him closer than was necessary, and whispered, “Even in the moments my arms are not around you, Alex, I am holding on to you. That you can count on.” And Alex’s nose stung, and he had to hide his face in Armando’s neck lest his people observe him being brought to tears as if he was Scott or Christian.

There was an excessive supper, which spun out for hours. Chefs had arrived from Dutukana with carriages of native ingredients, cooking the foods that Alex had requested most frequently during his tour in Dutukana. The dishes furnished the table alongside delicacies from each corner of Genosha. 

Later on the lawn, as Armando dragged Alex out for their first dance, Alex enjoined the two engaged royal couples to keep them company in the dance. Scott almost ran with Emma and she giggled, clearly enamoured despite her frequent glares and put-downs. The young couple were to have a long engagement, with Scott warded in Snawr so both of them could attend official proceedings in the palace and begin to learn their future. 

Charles smiled and shook his head at the demand to dance but Erik scooped him out of his chair and waltzed around in circles with the others for a few turns. Alex and Armando had ceased waltzing and were reduced to swaying side to side and staring at each other. Scott had been leading Emma on a wild route to the edges of the dancing space, until Emma took charge, placing Scott’s hand firmly on her shoulder, grasping his right hand on top of her left. They began a sweeping, bold dance that had several guests gasping with how elegant Scott could be when firmly in hand. Erik drew Charles’ chair to him with a careless nod, placed his love back in it and knelt on the grass to whisper to him for the rest of the song. 

 

XXX

 

Charles squeezed his eyes closed tighter. He was aware of Erik’s lips pressing dry kisses on his bare shoulder and spine. It was sparking little charges across his back. He fleetingly thought about moving but the room was warm, the mattress soft and Charles’ arms felt heavy and perfect where they were. He gave a warning grunt.

Erik ignored him, his long fingers slipping over Charles’ ribs and fanning out over Charles’ heart, which seemed determined to leap towards Erik’s hand like an excited puppy. Charles attempted to calm himself down, and return to the blissful part of falling asleep where he could feel his consciousness dissipating into the ether.

Erik shifted and began to cover Charles’ naked back with feather-light tickles, softly tapping and dragging his fingers over the muscles. Charles groaned and rolled over to his stomach to give Erik greater access.

“Good morning,” said Erik, his voice crashing like surf onto Charles and stirring up his arousal like the waves toss around the sand.

Charles buried his head further into the sheets.

“I do not believe you are still asleep, princeling,” Erik said.

“I am very, very asleep,” Charles insisted.

“Well, I should stop disturbing you then,” Erik replied, and the glorious tickling stopped.

“I might be starting to wake up,” said Charles, much too quickly to be convincingly casual.

Erik’s hands returned to their drumming and dusting on Charles’ skin.

“This is lovely,” Charles conceded, “I will expect you to wake me up like this everyday when we are finally wed.”

They were due to marry in fourteen months at that year’s Summer Festival. Charles wished to spend at least four seasons with Cassandra, easing her into the ways of Genosha and the expectations of her new role in Corazon. 

“And,” Erik added, sounding devious, “we will of course honeymoon at the Northern Tip, at your suggestion.”

“And at Vange’s lair,” Charles contributed, moving to face his fiance. “It’s good luck to sire an heir from the honeymoon.”

Erik laughed. “Oh joy. I’ll spend part of my honeymoon with a phoenix and a dragon,” he said, knowing Jean Grey would attend Vange to perform the conception magic.

Charles was unconcerned. He had been training with both Vange and Jean to develop his magic and fill Shaw’s gap in Ierocis Zeme as mage upon his marriage. “I am very used to the company of my phoenix and dragon teachers. Only I will insist on your unwavering focus when I have you alone in our chamber at night.”

“That I can do,” growled Erik, gathering Charles against him until they were seamed together chest to toe. “That, my sweet prince, is a promise.” He kissed Charles to underpin his words and, as their magic blended, it sent a frisson through them both, sealing their happily ever after.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Of Princes and Dragons: Art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6708133) by [dosymedia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dosymedia/pseuds/dosymedia)




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